Dancing With The Devil
by Galleon Eye
Summary: Sherlock is successfully 'back from the dead' when a ... familiar, woman appears at 221b. Sherene. Adlock. Whatever you want to call it.
1. Deja Vu

**Okay, hello everyone! I started this story a while ago and have written about four chapters so far so I'll try to update once a week for as long as possible :L Sherene is my OTP. I ship them so much it HURTS!**

**Just fyi, this story started off as roleplay on omegle and it got to the point where I begged them to let me use it as a fanfic starter and they obliged! It was going to b a one shot but pfft that didn't happen! Anyway, sorry for any mistakes! Enjoy :3 **

Come at once if convenient.  
If inconvenient, come all the same.

-SH

Doesn't leave me much of a choice.

–JW

NOW.

-SH

Fine, fine.

-JW

Can I ask his highness where I might be needing to go?

-JW

No time to explain. 221b. Now.

-SH

Say please.

-JW

John...

-SH

Say it. We've been working on this.

-JW

P-Please

-SH

All right. I'll be there in five.

-JW

Thank you.

-JW

FYI The Woman is here

-SH

Irene? Please tell me she's wearing clothes.

-JW

…

-SH

Then I'm not coming over.

-JW

Make her put something on.

-JW

Fine... she's wearing my coat

-SH

Okay.

-JW

Be there in three.

-JW

You nearly here?

-SH

Walking up the stairs.

-JW

Well hurry up.

-SH

"I'm here, I'm here." John said as he entered the flat. "What's so bloody important that you needed me?"

A blonde haired Sherlock (for the purpose of disguise only) stood next to the couch where the Woman sat. She had also changed her hair colour: ginger… it suited her.

"Well the fact that she's not dead... I thought would be a surprise to you?"

"You're not dead, she's not dead, everybody's not dead." Frankly, yes, it had been a surprise to see that text message, but John wasn't in the mood for Sherlock's games that afternoon. It was his lunch hour and he needed to be back at the clinic eventually.

"I'm in a bit of a tight spot again John dear." Irene said, standing up quickly.

"What do you need me to do?" John looked at her with bemusement, even though she'd been who knows where for months, she still looked as perfect and put together as ever. "Thank you, for not being naked."

She smirked, making Sherlock feel uncomfortable with the mild flirting.

"You always assume such things John... but in this case you're right. There is a package I need you to pick up for me it, _probably_ isn't dangerous."

"So I'm going to be you two's errand boy?" John threw up his hands. "Fine, fine. Where is this package?"

Sherlock smirked, he liked that John had said "you two's" though why? He couldn't fathom.

"It should be at the clinic that you work at." Irene sat back down as she said this, arranging Sherlock's coat to cover her more modestly.

"What is it? I'm not bringing you two home drugs. And why couldn't you just text me this?" Thoroughly annoyed, John gathered up his bag and coat and headed for the door.

"It's not drugs dear," -Sherlock's lip pursed as she called someone apart from him 'dear'- "it's information that could just clear Sherlock's name."

"What?" Sherlock turned to her, "You didn't tell me that."

"You didn't let me finish what I was trying to say. You just started 'deducting' again."

"Just finish fighting so I can be on my way," John interjected.

"We are finished." Irene looked at Sherlock strangely. "Now," she said brightly, turning back to John, "off you pop!"

Shaking his head, John left. "Fine. See you at five."

He closed the door behind him as he left, and Sherlock immediately turned to Irene, "Why did you give me that look?"

"What look?"

"The one you gave me after John said we were fighting."

"Just how he phrased it," she laughed, "made it sound like we were a squabbling couple."

"Yes well we're not." Sherlock choked, sitting in his favourite chair.

"Is that regret I hear in your voice Sherlock Holmes?" Irene teased.

"Course not." He replied, quickly… too quickly, and Irene picked up on this.

Before she could say anything, he changed the subject.

"How could this package help clear my name anyway?" He was genuinely intrigued.

"I knew one of Moriarty's henchmen." She said nonchalantly.

"Knew?"

"I knew what he liked." Her lips curved up at one side as she said this, but Sherlock didn't notice.

"No I mean knew, why knew? Why in the past tense."

"Well, after he'd seen me alive, I had to stop stories from spreading."

"You killed him?" Sherlock was shocked. He knew she would go to great lengths for what she wanted, but he'd never pictured her as someone who would kill.

"He had an accident." She replied casually.

"Accident, of course." Sherlock muttered. "How could it clear my name?" He repeated.

"Details of Moriarty's activity."

"Over the past year?"

"Ever."

"Impressive." He remarked.

"I know." Was the answer he got.

Without saying anything else, he got up and took hold of his violin.

He started playing a tune. Such a sad tune it was that it made a tear fall from the pale blue eyes of his companion as she realised that he wouldn't speak, listen or register anything that happened in the next few hours.

It was nearly five o'clock when Sherlock came out of his trance.

He put his violin down and sat down on his chair before he realised that Irene had moved from the sofa to sit in front of him.

"That was beautiful." She whispered. Sherlock nodded in gratitude, but she hadn't expected anything more. "What's it called?" She pushed, looking at the stand on which the self-composed piece sat.

"I haven't named it yet." He replied stiffly.

She nodded her understanding and shifted where she sat.

After a significant pause, Irene said, "You never answered my question."

"I just di-" Sherlock started, confused.

"No, not that question," Irene cut in, "the one I asked you lest time we were sitting here." She smiled as she said this, as though reliving past memories.

"I can't remember." Sherlock said, blushing a deep red.

"Allow me to be indelicate," Irene chuckled, "have you even had anyone?"

"Ummm," Irene looked at him expectantly, "No."

She half smiled, "Thought as much."

"You obviously have." He uttered it harshly and without thinking.

A tears filled her eyes and one rolled down her cheek. She stood up quickly.

"I think I remember where the bathroom is." She said, turning away.

"Irene, please." Sherlock stood, grabbing her wrist as she tried to walk away.

"Sherlock. Don't." She choked, trying to pull free of his grasp, but it merely tightened.

"I didn't mean it, honestly." He rushed, trying to reconcile his mistake.

"But you did!" She cried, "Everyone always does! Always…" Her voice faded off as she broke down in tears.

Sherlock didn't know what to do in these kinds of situations, but he had noticed that when Mrs Hudson was upset, John always seemed to hug her. So he thought this was only appropriate.

He wrapped his arms around her awkwardly and she immediately stepped into him, her tears soaking his shirt as he held her.

"I didn't mean to upset you." He said quietly.

"I know." Irene returned simply, turning her head up to look at him.

Her looked down at her and noticed that her face was extremely close to his. Too close. Her eyes too close. Her nose too close. Her lips too close. Nearly touching. Suddenly her lips were on his, her hands pulling his head down to her level, his arms wrapping around her waist. (When he told them to do this he had no idea.) When had his eyes closed too? He didn't know. Frankly he didn't care. He was lost in the kiss. A kiss. His first kiss.

Irene couldn't have been happier, she was kissing Sherlock Holmes. The man that had made her heart skip a beat ever since the first time she saw a photo of him in that very see-through sheet.

There was a scratching of keys in the front door lock, but neither of them noticed it. They only broke apart when they heard John's footsteps right outside.

Sherlock pushed Irene back and the two stood looking at each other with swollen lips.

"Ashamed to be caught with me?" Irene whispered as John came in. She had never found it so hard not to smile.

John looked at the two of them awkwardly. Sherlock thought 'he must know'. But John merely said

"Don't you want this?"

Before Sherlock could take the package in his hand, Irene snatched it with her own and tore open the paper with one of her piercing red nails. She searched around inside with her hand; her forehead burrowed when she realised there was nothing in there.

She let out an exasperated sigh and threw it to Sherlock.

"Nothing. Nothing!" She exclaimed, as Sherlock caught the parcel.

He looked at it for a moment before tearing down two of the sides to reveal the inside.

_Did you really think my people would be that stupid?_

"How did you know that wa-?" Irene started

"The corners of the envelope were slightly crinkled as though someone had turned it inside out before turning it back the right way."

"Of course," John said, "why didn't we think of that?"

"What now?" Irene asked.

"Well you are sure there are some forms of records out there?" Sherlock said, turning to her and noticing how his coat had loosened slightly during their kissing session. He smirked, hoping John wouldn't notice.

"Of course, I saw them myself." Irene replied, her brow crinkling in confusion as to why Sherlock was giving her such an unnatural look for him.

"Wait a minute," John interrupted, "if you saw them, then why didn't you take them?"

Irene gave him a look.

"I know, it annoys me when he's being stupid too." Sherlock said.

"What now?" John let out an exasperated sigh as he said this.

"I was being watched." Irene said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, and to her and Sherlock… it was.

"What?! Who by?" John cried out.

Irene gave him another look.

"You really should educate him better dear."

"Moriarty's henchman." Sherlock interjected before John could reply.

"Oh." Was John's answer, "What are we going to do now then?"

"Not we, me." Sherlock stated.

"Sherlock…"

"No John. Don't you see how dangerous it will be?"

"Don't be ridicul-"

Before John could say anything else his pager went off, filling the apartment with a shrill beeping.

"It's the clinic," he sighed, "there's an emergency. I'd better go." He said the last bit reluctantly before walking back out of the door and down the stairs.

Neither of the couple moved until they heard a taxi door slam shut.

"You can't honestly expect to do this without my help Sherlock." Irene said earnestly.

"I don't want to put you in a situation where you may get killed." Sherlock replied quietly.

"You're forgetting something love, I'm already dead." Irene joked, but the attempt at humour had no effect on Sherlock. "Besides," she continued, "you need my help to get those files."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

"Exactly." Irene added; satisfied. "In the meantime," she strolled into the kitchen, "I have nowhere to stay."

Sherlock followed her with blank eyes.

For a genius he could really be very ignorant.

"Can I stay here?" She concluded.

"We only have two bedrooms." Sherlock replied.

"You have a couch." She pointed out.

Sherlock could see no reason to object, so just nodded his head randomly.

Irene smiled before turning to his fridge. Opening the door she was greeted by the charming sight of a… well, a foot. Of all the people to had looked in the fridge of 221b and seen something horrific, Sherlock noted that Irene was the most unaffected of them all, merely tilting her head when she saw the charming sight.

Closing the door she proceeded to raid the cupboards.

"You haven't got any food." She stated, turning back to him. "Let's have dinner."

"Why?"

"Might be hungry."

"I'm not."

"Good."

There was a pause.

"Why would I want to have dinner if I wasn't hungry?"

"Because I am." Irene said, turning and grabbing his hand.

"You aren't honestly going out wearing that?" He said, eyeing his coat.

"Why not?" She winked at him.

"Because people will say things." He answered, tugging at his collar.

"And when did the great Sherlock Holmes start caring what other people thought of him?" Irene asked, an eyebrow raised.

"When he became an internationally hated 'madman' who everyone now believes to be dead." He said it solemnly.

Irene turned and without saying anything, walked into his bedroom.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked, entering after her, fearing the answer.

"Put this on." She said, handing him a denim jacket.

"I'd forgotten I had this." He replied, as he put it on. Why he was following her instructions he wasn't quite sure.

"Why do you have it anyway?" Irene laughed, pulling out a pair of thick jeans, "And these?"

"Disguises."

She nodded her approval before taking one of his kitchen knives out of her pocket and cutting the jeans into short shorts.

"I didn't see you take that…" Sherlock said, eyeing her suspiciously

"Good." She grinned, slipping the 'customised' jeans on under his coat. "Put these on." She added, holding a pair of 'Johnny Depp' sunglasses out to him. He begrudgingly put them on as well.

Irene continued to rummage around in his wardrobe for a considerable amount of time. Emerging a few minutes later wearing one of his shirts (tied around her waist to reveal her smooth stomach) and a pair of glasses (identical to all the ones that the kids in town had been wearing over the summer).

Taking off his coat she looked at him, expecting him to comment on her 'new look'.

Sensing this, Sherlock saw it fit to say, "You look… nice." albeit somewhat awkwardly.

"Thank you dear." The Woman replied, taking his hand once more and dragging him out of his bedroom and into the sitting room.

They were just about to exit when Irene stopped dead, "Wait a sec." She said; taking the pin that was holding her hair in place and tugging it out of her thick locks, allowing them to cascade down her back.

Sherlock thought she looked beautiful. What? Wait. No she didn't. It must be a mistake. He'd never thought of anyone that way before. He must be broken.

"You got the keys?" Irene asked.

"Keys? No, John always has keys."

Irene sighed before strolling back into Sherlock's bedroom. She returned a moment later.

"Never seen these before?" she asked, giving Sherlock a key with a label attached. The label read _Sherlock's keys._

"Never." He replied innocently, and Irene nearly laughed out loud. She stopped herself though; she figured that he must be like a dog: he didn't like it when people laughed at him for reasons unknown to him.

She pocketed the keys before starting down the stairs. She had gone three steps before she realised that Sherlock wasn't following her.

"Oh come on!" She exclaimed, taking his shirt in her hand and pulling him forwards. Reluctantly, he stumbled after her.

When they reached the street, Irene hailed a cab, pushing Sherlock in before her, "Lutyens, Fleet Street." She told the cabbie, and Sherlock gave her a strange look. "What?"

"Don't you find it a bit dodgy going to a restaurant in Fleet Street?" He asked, smiling.

"A Sweeney Todd fan are you dear?" She asked, mirroring his smile.

"Well you are one too obviously. Otherwise you wouldn't have understood the joke." He replied, and her smile broke into a grin.

"Turns out we have more things in common than I thought."

They spent the rest of the journey to Fleet Street in silence. Sherlock stiffened slightly as they passed St Bart's, but relaxed again when Irene took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

When the cab stopped they stepped out into the humid air again. BBC was saying it was the second hottest summer in recorded history, something like that anyway.

Irene paid the driver and the two started down the street to Lutyens. They passed a group of boys in their late teens/early twenties and a few of them lowered their sunglasses and wolf whistled Irene as they walked. While Irene enjoyed the attention –batting her eyelashes at them and swaying her hips flirtatiously- Sherlock felt uncomfortable and slipped an arm around her bare waist, pulling her closer to him.

Irene looked up at him –shocked.

"Shame you got a boyfriend love, I'd like to take that position if you didn't!" One of the lads called out.

Before Irene could correct him by saying that she didn't have a boyfriend, Sherlock called back "Yes… shame." His voice dripping with sarcasm. Their gaze never breaking as Irene leaned up and gently brushed her lips against his, her eyes fluttering shut in the process.

"No need to rub our faces in it mister!" The boy called out once more.

Irene simply smiled up at Sherlock and lay her head on his shoulder.

They turned into the restaurant and Irene asked for the table tucked in a little corner, away from all the others. As they reached the table, Sherlock pulled out Irene's chair for her.

"Quite the gentleman you are." She smiled, sitting down.

Sherlock sat opposite her and picked up a menu.

"What can I get you both?" A young waiter asked, coming and standing behind Irene.

"Salad for me please." Irene replied, "Need to watch my figure." She chuckled.

"Trust me, you don't!" The waiter said, earning him a deathly glare from Sherlock – quickly shutting him up. "What would you like sir?"

Sherlock looked at the man.

Twenty five, 5ft 10", coffee drinker, had a ginger cat, from a wealthy family, died hair, electric razor, single.

Irene kicked him sharply under the table, well aware of what he was doing.

"Uh, yes, sorry," Sherlock stuttered and her foot travelled further up his leg until it cradled his crotch. "Could I have the same?" He felt the foot press against him, "Please." Irene smiled and removed her foot.

"Are you and John trying to train me?" He asked as soon as the waiter was out of earshot.

"Yes." She replied – ever honest. "And if it doesn't work the nice way then I'll have to teach you the hard way." She smirked and he scowled. Both of them had the image of her riding crop in their minds eye.

The waiter came back a minute later with two salads and put them down quickly before rushing off again.

"He was right you know." Sherlock said quietly, pushing the food around his plate.

She looked at him questioningly.

"You don't need to 'watch your figure'." He added.

"You're sweet to say that." Irene replied fondly, "I'd tell you the same, but sadly I've never seen you in less than a thin sheet."

Sherlock choked on his food, "When did you see me in a sheet?"

"When you paid old Queenie a visit." She giggled at his expression, "Jim sent me some pictures."

"Jim… Moriarty?" He asked hesitantly.

"That's right." She said, sensing the delicacy of the subject and choosing to focus more on her meal.

Given the fact that they were one, only eating salad, and two, their portions were very small, the two had soon finished and were calling the waiter over.

"Could I have the bill please?" Sherlock said to him.

"I'll pay Sherlock, it's fine." Irene put in.

"It's my duty." Sherlock pushed, "On a date the man always pays."

"So this is a date?" Irene beamed when she heard him say it, but she didn't get a reply out of him as he left money on the table and offered her his hand. She took it graciously and together they walked back out into the –now setting- sun of Fleet Street.

Sherlock's watch made it out to be about seven o'clock and he wondered where the time had gone.

A scuffle broke out across the street from them and Sherlock moved his hand from hers to grip around her waist again, protectively.

They got another cab and Sherlock let Irene get in first –it was only polite.

"Bakers Street please." Irene told the driver as he pulled away from the curb.

"Did you two 'ear what 'appened then?" The cabbie asked them.

Sherlock instantaneously disliked the man. He didn't like holding conversations when conversations didn't need to be held. Obviously Irene however, did not share his quarrels.

"No?" She replied, her voice going up at the end to invite him to continue.

"Been a terrible explosion at a clinic south o' the Thames."

"Which clinic?" Sherlock asked immediately.

"Uhhh the one near Southbank I think."

Sherlock and Irene looked at each other, with horror stricken faces with only one thing on their minds.

John.

John worked at the clinic by Southbank.


	2. Bang Bang

**Okay hi again! *waves* I was meant to update this yesterday but I sort of forgot :L Thank you for the reviews too **

**Quick re-cap: Irene has returned to Baker Street her and Sherlock went out for dinner (I mean in the literal term! Not the 'Irene Adler ' term… That's yet to come ;) *oh shit spoilers* Sorry. They were coming back from the restaurant when the taxi driver tells them there has been an explosion at the clinic where our beloved Dr Watson works (again, sorry). **

**Disclaimer: (This shall be my only one and I really should have done it in the first chapter) I do not own Sherlock Holmes, or any of the actors. If I did a fair few would be tied to my bed naked. **

"Let me through!" Sherlock shouted angrily as he ran through the bustling crowds that had gathered outside the clinic, "Move!" He was trailing Irene behind him, letting her apologise to everyone for his rudeness.

When they reached the security tape they could see just how damaged the clinic was: the whole left side of the building was rubble.

Sherlock tried to duck under the tape but a policeman put his arm in front of him saying, "Sorry sir, no one passes this line without express permission from-"

"Mycroft!" Sherlock shouted seeing his brother.

"Well yes, Mycroft." The policeman concluded, stunned that this stranger knew the man's first name.

"Let them through." Mycroft's voice drifted lazily across the stagnant air and the officer reluctantly lifted the tape. Mycroft could see a woman holding Sherlock's hand but didn't get a good look at her until they were a meter away from each other.

"Miss Ad-?"

"Shut up Mycroft." Sherlock interjected, "You don't want to blow our cover do you?" He glared at his brother.

"No of course not," Mycroft lowered his voice considerably before saying, "I just thought you were dead."

"Good." Irene said smiling.

"And yet I find you alive, just like my dear brother." Mycroft rolled his eyes, "Do either of you realise how dangerous it is for you two to be seen out?! The country believes you are both six feet under!"

"We've got disguises." Irene pointed out.

"I suppose." Mycroft replied irritably.

"Enough with this pointless chatter." Sherlock said, annoyed now. "Where's John?"

"They took him to St. Bart's about twenty minutes ago." Mycroft said casually as though John going to hospital –alive- was not as important as all the people who died. In retrospect, it wasn't.

Sherlock growled at his brother, earning him a half smile from Irene as he took her hand again and ducked the two of them under the tape.

Mycroft watched them walk off, Sherlock moving his hand to her waist to guide her through the crowds more efficiently. He shook his head and laughed, wondering if they themselves knew about their feelings for each other, he wondered how his brother would cope with _feelings_. He snorted at the thought before walking over to the detective inspector for a full report on casualties.

"Who were they Mr Holmes?" The D.I. asked, glancing to the area where Sherlock and Irene had disappeared into the swarms.

"No one of importance." Mycroft brushed him off.

"I'm looking for Doctor John Watson." Sherlock told the receptionist, tapping his fingers impatiently on the desk.

"Are you family sir?" The nineteen year old smoker asked.

"I live with him!" Sherlock shouted, spraying spit all over her face.

"Oh, sorry um name?"

"Mycroft Holmes." Sherlock replied, not missing a beat.

"Okay sir and this is?" She gestured to Irene, who was standing tiredly next to Sherlock.

"She's my…" Sherlock gulped, what was she to him?

"I'm his lover dear." Irene smirked at Sherlock as she said this, wanting to provoke a reaction out of him.

However, unlike the secretary who had some sort of fit, Sherlock didn't bat an eyelid. Irene sighed, disappointed that she didn't even get a smile out of him, but cheered up considerably when she felt his hand on the small of her back.

"Second floor, casualty. You'll have to wait outside the red doors; I'll get a nurse to fetch you when he's ready to have visitors."

"Thank you." Irene said to the young woman as she ran after Sherlock.

"I can't believe this has happened!" Sherlock growled a few minutes later, banging his hands on the wall outside the 'red doors'. Irene was sitting on one of the hospital chairs in the row opposite him. "He shouldn't be in danger all the time! Why do the people I care about always get caught?!"

Molly Hooper had heard shouting from her lab on the third floor and had come down to investigate. She saw Sherlock having what appeared to be an argument with the wall and her face cracked into a smile when she saw him. This would be it. The day that she told him she loved him. She started forwards, her features aglow, but stopped short after one step.

A woman with red hair had come up behind Sherlock and had started rubbing his back and shoulders –obviously trying to calm him down.

_She's probably just his sister or something._ Molly thought to herself, but decided firmly against this theory when Sherlock turned around and the woman kissed him passionately on the mouth.

"Calm down dear." Irene said, coming up behind Sherlock and rubbing her hands over his back and shoulders comfortingly. "It'd not your fault, don't get yourself worked up."

"But if I was there to-" Sherlock began, turning around.

His words were cut short when Irene smothered his mouth with hers. After a few minutes the kiss broke and the two gazed into each other's eyes.

"Hello Sherlock!" A bright voice said, breaking the couple's moment together. Irene looked over her right shoulder, a youngish looking girl with mousy brown hair and small lips, was walking towards them, she had no idea who this girl was but Sherlock apparently did.

"Hello Molly." He said politely, "How have you been?"

"I've been good thank you, yourself?" She replied eagerly.

"Mediocre."

There was silence.

"Aren't you going to introduce us Sherlock dear?" Irene said, wrapping her arm around his waist. For some reason she felt threatened by this 'Molly', she was looking at Sherlock strangely and Irene didn't like it.

"Oh yes of course," Sherlock said, clearing his throat, "This is Molly, she helped me fake my own death, her and Mycroft."

"Nice to meet you love." Irene said, smiling sweetly. Sweet as venom. Holding her hand out to Molly who shook it uncertainly.

"How do you and Sherlock know each other?" Molly asked, hoping it wasn't as bad as her imagination was making her believe.

"Hmm," Irene smirked, what a perfect question to prove that Sherlock was hers, whether he liked it or not (and she was sure he did), "Well our first meeting ended with us both… defrocked." She put stress on the last word, hoping Molly would take it the wrong way. Judging the look on the girls face, she did. "Oh and I do believe there was a whip involved was there not darling?" Irene grinned smugly, looking up at Sherlock.

"Yes." He said slowly and unsurely, wondering why Irene had phrased their first meeting in such a manner.

"Oh, well that's… nice." Molly contirbuted awkwardly.

The awkward silence was saved when a nurse came bustling through the pair of red doors.

"Mycroft Holmes and his… lover?" She said frowning as she looked down at his clipboard.

Molly's eyes widened even more and Irene silently thanked the receptionist for writing down exactly what she'd said.

"Yes, yes that's us." Sherlock said, swirling around and taking Irene's hand as he sped away after the nurse.

"Lovely meeting you." Irene called back to Molly who was still frozen in her tracks.

They sped down corridor after corridor and Irene considered memorising away to get back but knew Sherlock would already have that covered.

They reached a second pair of red doors where the nurse instructed them to wait there to make sure it was okay for them to see John.

"What was that about?" Sherlock asked, turning to Irene.

"What was what about?" She said innocently.

"That, that moment with Molly. Why did you make it seem like we had… had, you know."

"Had what?" Irene said, her eyes sparkling, she wanted him to say it.

"Had… _sex."_ He whispered.

"Ohhh!" She said like she only just realised what he'd been trying to say, "Well I wanted to make sure that she knew you are my property." She finished, pulling him closer to her by his collar.

"What if I don't want to be 'your property'?" Sherlock asked, his hands finding her waist.

"Then I'd just have to get my whip out again." Irene winked and kissed him again.

"He's ready to see you now." The nurse came back and Sherlock immediately broke away. "Now I need to warn you, he was heavily burnt in the explosion. The silver lining is that he doesn't have any internal problems."

Sherlock was already through the doors before the nurse had finished speaking and Irene hurried in after him.

"Oh God!" She gasped as she saw John on the bed. He was lying on top of the sheets wearing only hospital shorts, and while his face was fine, the entire right side of his body was blistered and swollen.

"How did it happen?" Sherlock asked, not bothering to ask how John was –the charts showed that he would be fine so why worry about that side of things?

"I don't know." John replied stiffly, trying not to move too much.

"Are you alright?" Irene rushed over to his left side and took his uninjured hand in her own.

"I will be." John smiled at her.

She smiled back.

Sherlock didn't notice this encounter. "I need to know!" He shouted.

"If you're going to shout sir I will have to ask you to leave." The nurse said, sticking her head round the door. Sherlock glared at her and she scooted back to her post, making Irene and John smile at how intimidating he could be without much effort.

"I like the new look by the way Irene." John said, looking at their still joined hands.

Irene noticed how he was looking at their hands, abruptly removed hers and stood up, "Thank you John dear." She turned to Sherlock, "I'm really very tired Sherlock darling, do you mind if I meet you back at the flat?"

"Of course not." He muttered without looking up, he was about to slip away into his world of theories when Irene stepped directly in front of his gaze.

"I'll see you later." She leaned up on tip toes and kissed him softly; before he had time to react she'd gone.

John watched her leave, his heart had twanged when she kissed Sherlock but held onto the hope that it was just her way of saying goodbye to people.

"Are you two…?" He prompted.

"What?" Sherlock looked up, "Oh, it's complicated." He added, cottoning on to what John meant.

John sighed sadly, "How many theories about the explosion then?" he asked.

"Twelve."

"That's a lot."

"Too many. I need to narrow it down."

"How are you planning on doing that?"

"I need to get back on the site."

"It will be closed now, apart from security. Not even Mycroft would be able to get you on."

Sherlock scowled. How had John known he was thinking of Mycroft?

"You may as well go back to Baker Street too."

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Sherlock at him, genuine concern in his eyes.

"I'll be fine Sherlock." John said, putting on a face braver than he felt. He pulled his sheets up to cover his body, feeling self-conscious of his already forming scars.

"Don't cover up your scars. Our scars remind us that the past is real." Sherlock said simply, before turning and following the direction in which Irene had gone.

When Sherlock walked through the door to 221b he noticed that Irene wasn't asleep on the couch, he considered the possibilities and decided that she was most likely to be in the bathroom. He didn't feel like a late night conversation so instead made for his room with the intention of going to bed.

As he caught sight of his door he saw that there was a note pinned to it, it read

_If I'm asleep by the time you get back then this situation_

_has arisen because it the couch is in a cross breeze_

_between the window and the door. Irene x_

Sherlock wondered what the 'situation' was as he ripped the note from the door and proceeded into his bedroom. However, the 'situation' became apparent when he looked at his bed and saw Irene asleep under the covers. He sighed, took off his jacket and shoes and climbed into the opposite side of the bed from her.

As his weight pressed down on the mattress Irene stirred next to him. He never knew how to act in these situations, should he try and sleep? He rarely had a good night's sleep on a calm day, but when he had something on his mind it was nearly impossible.

Irene rolled over to face Sherlock in her sleep, her head about an inch away from his in his small bed. Should he wake her and ask her to move away? No, that would be rude, and he wasn't even sure that he wanted her to move away anyway.

He decided that he may as well try and get some sleep and no sooner than he had put his mind to it was he flat out.

Sherlock woke first the next morning; he hadn't had a sleep that well in a long time. He lay staring at the ceiling before becoming aware that he wasn't alone in his bed. He lifted his head slightly off the pillow and took in their current predicament. He was sure they'd gone to sleep on opposite sides of the bed, yet now Irene's head was on his shoulder, her arm resting on his chest and one leg entwined with his. He then noticed that his arms appeared to be wrapped around her, his chin being tickled by her fiery curls.

He slipped out of the bed silently, dislodging Irene and causing her to roll over onto her other side, frowning in her sleep. He smiled at her expression before turning and walking into the bathroom to wash and change.

Irene woke up when she heard the shower turn on in the next room. She sighed sleepily before swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She looked down at what she was wearing and promptly decided that she needed to go shopping today. If she remembered correctly, Sherlock had a housekeeper called, Mrs Hudson? Yes, that's right; she thought and agreed with herself that asking her along for company would be a good idea.

As if on cue, Irene heard the woman's voice call from the stairway, "Sherlock dear? It's nearly half eleven! You really should be getting up you know!"

Irene rushed into the living room as Mrs Hudson entered the flat.

"Who are you?" Mrs Hudson asked, shocked to find a woman in Sherlock's flat.

"Irene Adler." She replied, holding out her hand to Mrs Hudson who shook it.

"Una Hudson. Haven't I met you before?" She said suspiciously.

"Yes!" Irene was glad Una recognised her, "I was here a while ago, Sherlock helped me fake my own death actually, so if anyone asks my name is… wow I haven't had time to think of an alias yet!" she laughed, "Anyway, I need to get some more clothes, I was wondering if you would like to come shopping with me say in," she checked the clock, "half an hour?"

"Certainly love." Mrs Hudson smiled, "Tell Sherlock to get up will you?" She added.

"I _am_ up Mrs Hudson." Sherlock's voice sounded from behind Irene, and she turned to face him.

He'd changed his shirt and put on a different pair of jeans; he had a towel in his hand and was using it to dry his pale hair.

"Sherlock darling, Una and I are going shopping later, I take it you don't fancy coming?" She looked at him but already knew the answer.

"No thank you. I need to get a look at that crime scene and check in on John."

"I went in to see him this morning," Mrs Hudson said sadly, "poor thing, burned all over." She left 221b snivelling – much to Sherlock's annoyance.

"Why do you women folk feel the need to go shopping?" Sherlock asked, picking up his sunglasses.

"Well, if I'm staying here for the foreseeable future –which I am- I will be needing my own clothes instead of borrowing yours now won't I?" Irene replied, "I nearly forgot, we both need new alias' now, any ideas?"

Sherlock gave her an 'of course' look and she rolled her eyes.

"What is my name then?" She asked indignantly.

"Victoria Poteen."

"No." Irene looked down.

"What?" Sherlock looked at her confused.

"Not Victoria." She whispered.

"Fine, Elizabeth." Irene nodded.

"Back story?"

"We met through Mycroft, your father is in the Irish government but you were brought up in England with your mother after your parents split up."

"What do you mean 'we met'?"

"Oh didn't I say? We're posing as a couple." Sherlock blushed and Irene giggled.

"Shouldn't be too hard; what's your name?"

"Victor Deeds, went to school with Mycroft and I work at Scotland Yard." Irene nodded again.

"I'd better have a shower before I leave."

"I'd better be getting to the clinic site. See you later."

Sherlock headed towards the bathroom but Irene pulled him back and kissed him firmly on the lips.

"If we're going to pose as a couple we may as well make it realistic." She winked.

"I didn't think we would be posing." Sherlock mentioned before sweeping out of the door.

Irene's face cracked open when he said that and spent her shower in some sort of heavenly daze. Seeing as she was on her way to buy more clothes, she was forced to put the clothes she'd been wearing the previous day back on.

"Irene dear are you ready?" Mrs Hudson re-entered the flat with a bag as Irene came out of the bathroom and slipped her heels back on.

"Elizabeth Poteen when we're in public." She said, picking up her own bag and putting the set of keys Sherlock had forgotten again in it.

Ten minutes later, the two had successfully hailed a cab and were crawling along in the London traffic.

"Didn't used to be this bad back in my day!" Mrs Hudson fussed.

"Don't take it to heart Una dear." Irene said, laughing at her old fashioned ways. "We're nearly in the city, why don't we just walk the rest?"

"We may as well." Was the reply she received as she handed a ten pound note to the driver while telling him to keep the change.

"Where to first?" Mrs Hudson asked when they were safely on the pavement.

"Why don't we go to Convent Gardens? I know we'll be going back on ourselves but…"

"Course dear, whatever you like."

The two women walked along in a comfortable silence until they crossed over the road to Long Acre.

"Jack Wills? H&M? Top Shop? I've never heard of half of these shops before!" The eldest muttered, chuckling as they walked.

"My favourite shop's just down here." Irene said steering the two of them left.

"Doc Martens!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed, "Now them I've heard of."

"Who hasn't?" Irene asked, turning right before stopping outside a big shop.

"Rokkit? What sort of a name is that? It looks like a glorified charity shop!" Mrs Hudson said disapprovingly.

"Well that's exactly what it is!" Irene laughed as she dragged Una in by her elbow.

**:D I'm British as the chapter may have told you and frequently visit the city and the West End so I used my knowledge here **** Little Scars –Papa Roach quote in there if you didn't notice ;) As I am a multi-fandom mess of feels there will be lots of cross-over references just warning you :L and all the chapter names are names of songs **** please review, it makes me happy :D**


	3. Hang With Me

**Hello my lovely readers! As promised an update… actually on time this week though! Hope you enjoy and try and spot the Spooks reference ;) It won't be too hard! And shout out to fuckyeahthewoman you little shit! ;)**

"Thought I might find you here." Mycroft's voice came from behind Sherlock, causing him to turn around. "How did you get in without my authorisation?" He asked, looking around the rubble they were currently standing in.

"Like I've said before, you're name _literally _opens doors." Sherlock smirked even in the severity of the situation.

"Yes well, what do you make of it?" Mycroft continued. He had found out the previous day that the police were completely useless and now understood why Lestrade was constantly asking Sherlock for help.

"Four theories." Sherlock looked around the non-existent clinic. He put his hands behind his back as he strolled around the area. "I had twelve last night but I've had time to look around now."

"And what are those theories dear brother?" Mycroft asked exasperatedly.

"One, what the police are saying: gas explosion."

"Obviously not, even I myself could tell that."

"Two, what the newspapers are saying: terrorist attack."

"Again, obviously not." Mycroft commented.

"Three, what you are likely to be thinking. Moriarty."

Mycroft nodded.

"But that one I've decided to rule out, he was very much dead when I left him."

Mycroft frowned.

"Four, Moriarty's men. I think it seems the most feasible I think."

"As a personal threat to you? Do they know you're alive?"

"No. No one knows I'm alive, there's no way they could. They may be advertising again but I'm not one hundred per cent sure."

"Yes, I did consider the last option too but it almost seems too easy."

"I know what you mean. But catching the people who did this _won't_ be easy."

"It will be if I have anything to do with it." Mycroft smirked, "How's Irene?" he asked.

"She has apparently gone shopping with Mrs Hudson." Sherlock rolled his eyes and his brother mirrored his action.

"I need to speak to her personally."

Sherlock looked at his watch, "How long does shopping take? I can't work out if they'd be home by now."

Mycroft frowned, "I don't know. We could visit John first; I need to speak with him also."

"Certainly." Sherlock agreed as the two made for Mycroft's car. "Oh and by the way, I gave my name as 'Mycroft Holmes' yesterday." Mycroft sighed.

"Fine, I shall take George Lloyd." Sliding into the back of the car.

"Any significance behind the name?" Sherlock asked, taking a seat beside Mycroft as the engine started.

"I was thinking of David Lloyd George and well, the rest is self-explanatory."

Sherlock nodded and the rest of the journey was spent in silence.

John woke groggily, his head throbbed and the right side of his body was steadily progressing through torture. He could hear noises coming from outside his room and a nurse entered.

"Do you know a Mycroft Holmes and George Lloyd?" She asked looking at John seriously.

"Yes." John sighed, he knew Sherlock had used Mycroft's name the day before so he assumed 'George Lloyd' to be Mycroft.

The nurse nodded and left, Sherlock entered the room a second later, straightening out his coat with Mycroft on his heels.

"How are you John?" Mycroft asked, leaning on his umbrella.

"Better thank you." He said slowly, "What have the two of you decided is the most likely theory?" He asked.

"Moriarty's men, advertising probably."

John nodded, thinking.

"So presumably it was a coincidence that they picked the clinic that I work at." He stated blankly.

"Yes. I would be inclined to think otherwise but you weren't meant to be working at the time of the explosion so I think it was sheer misfortune."

"Mmm," Mycroft murmured his agreement before turning to John again, "Do you know when they will let you out?"

"No," He admitted, "they tell me it will be a while though as the scarring has to stop blistering and they have to make sure there will be no psychological effects."

"Does it annoy you terribly that they are telling you stuff you already know?" Sherlock asked, smirking slightly as he knew how agitated John would likely be getting with the whole situation.

"Just a tad." He grunted, re adjusting his bed sheets. "How's Irene?" he asked, trying to sound casual and failing terribly. Yet, while Mycroft noticed this, Sherlock appeared to have gone into a trance at the mention of her name and John's odd actions bypassed him completely.

"She's alright. Shopping with Mrs Hudson right now." Sherlock replied, shaking himself mentally.

"We had better go Sherlock." Mycroft put in, "I still need to speak to The Woman and I have appointment later."

"With the Queen?" John smirked.

"He is the Queen." Sherlock muttered; causing both he and John to collapse with laughter, however, John stopped quickly when he realised how much pain he was causing himself with the simple emotion.

Mycroft heard their encounter but chose to ignore it with thin lips, "Come on then little brother." With that he swept out of the room.

"I'll try and pop in tomorrow" Sherlock said, "If I don't I'll make sure Irene does, at least you have some form of company."

"Thanks." John called out as Sherlock exited after his brother.

"Is she here?" Mycroft asked Sherlock as the latter opened the door.

"No." Sherlock replied. It was obvious really; couldn't his brother read the signs?

When the two reached the main living area Sherlock sat in his favourite chair and immediately steepled his hands under his chin.

"I'll fetch myself a drink them shall I?" Mycroft muttered, already entering the kitchen.

"We don't have much." Sherlock replied and Mycroft was surprised his brother had even been listening to him.

"If I remember correctly Mrs Hudson enjoys the odd whiskey, so if you'll excuse me I think I'll check her apartment."

Sherlock nodded as his brother swept back out of the room and into the flat downstairs. The sound of bottles clinking could be heard and Mycroft soon re-entered the flat with a half glass of the liquor he had been looking for.

"We need a plan of action as to how to-" Sherlock started speaking but was promptly interrupted by Irene and Mrs Hudson bustling through the front door, both laden with shopping bags.

"Honey! I'm home!" Irene called out, making Mrs Hudson giggle in a way much distasteful in Sherlock's view.

Irene flung open the door with a "Hello Mycroft." and continued into Sherlock's room, followed by Mrs Hudson.

Before Mycroft could give Sherlock a look, the two women had returned –bags missing- and Mrs Hudson had gone into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Irene sauntered over to Sherlock, swaying her hips flirtatiously on the way and when she reached the chair, bent down and kissed him lightly on the lips.

Mycroft's eyebrows shot into his hairline as Irene took a seat on the sofa, kicking off her patent red heels in the process.

"I have a few questions for you Miss Adler." Mycroft said, recovering himself and looking at her.

"Fire away." Irene smirked; she already knew what the first question would be.

"How did you fake your death? It would have taken Sherlock Holmes to fool me."

"Well," she turned to Sherlock, "why don't you take over from here dear?"

"You didn't…?" Mycroft stared at his brother –shocked.

Sherlock nodded in reply and Irene took his hand grinning.

"I've always been able to count on him to save my life."

"Yes, well it wasn't that hard." Sherlock felt uncomfortable holding her hand in front of Mycroft.

"Because taking down an entire terrorist cell with a machete is something you do every day…" Irene added.

"You took down a wh-whole terrorist cell with a m-machete?" Mycroft stumbled through his words. This time, his brother had truly out-done himself.

"Then safely snuck me into Scotland. No one knew me in the highlands so it was a safety guarantee."

Mycroft nodded –dumbfounded.

"Why are you back in town?" Mycroft asked.

"I thought I had some evidence to clear Sherlock's name… turns out it was a decoy." Irene sighed sadly, playing with Sherlock's hand absentmindedly.

"Third and lastly," Mycroft finished up, "when did… _this_" he waved his hand at the couple, "happen?"

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably under his brother's judgemental stare. His reaction was much the opposite to Irene's, who stood from her place on the sofa and walked over to him, gently sitting down on his lap, her legs over the edge of his chair.

"Well I think it was sometime yesterday wasn't it darling?" Irene smiled as she said this, twirling bits on his messy hair through her slender fingers.

"Seems like a lifetime ago." Sherlock muttered, and he meant it.

When Sherlock had woken up the morning before, it was… well it was the afternoon by then. He got up –bored already- and trudged to the kitchen. He was considering going to Scotland Yard and begging Lestrade for a case when he entered the living room and found The Woman sitting on his sofa wearing nothing but the blood red heels she'd been wearing for the past two days. Since then he'd kissed a woman (rather passionately), slept in the same bed as a woman, taken a woman out for dinner and found his best friend in hospital.

Yes, a rather eventful two days at 221b.

"Hmm," Mycroft eyed them suspiciously, "I'd better be off. Irene would you walk out with me?"

"As long as Sherlock won't get jealous!" She replied, winking at the man aforementioned before standing and following Mycroft down the stairs and out of the front door.

"What do you want to talk to me about that Sherlock can't hear?" She asked, the second her bare foot hit the pavement of Baker Street.

Mycroft was impressed; he could see why Sherlock had chosen her as the one exception to his 'no women' rule.

"I don't want you to hurt him." Mycroft said quietly, looking at her seriously, "He's never had any sort of female relations before and he knows nothing about them so if you hurt him you know I have people who can hunt you down and kill you. Really kill you."

Irene gulped and nodded before replying in a hoarse voice, "I have no intention of hurting him."

"Also, I don't want you to continue your previous profession if you and he are to be an item." Mycroft pushed.

"I don't want to continue my previous profession either." Irene replied, looking him straight in the eye as she said this and he knew she wasn't lying.

Mycroft nodded before turning and getting into the car that was waiting for him.

Irene looked into the car and saw his pretty assistant glaring at her. Apparently someone had a crush on Mycroft. She smirked at the woman, giving her a twinkling smile and a small wave before turning and walking back into 221b.

"Who was that?" Mycroft's assistant asked the second he'd closed the door.

"My brothers… girlfriend for want of a better word." He replied. It sounded weird saying 'my brother' and 'girlfriend' in the same sentence. Mycroft's assistant was one of the people who knew Sherlock was alive and when she heard this she did little to hide her grin. Mycroft noticed her smiling and considered questioning her on her motive for this but decided not to pry.

"What did he want you to know that I couldn't?" Sherlock asked the second Irene closed the door behind her.

She grinned and replied, "He doesn't want me to hurt you."

Sherlock looked at her questioningly, "Is that all?"

Irene nodded before walking over to where he sat, "He meant emotionally of course," she sat on his lap, straddling him, "if I couldn't use my whip on you I wouldn't have agreed."

Sherlock's mouth twitched upwards at one side and Irene smiled before kissing him deeply. He responded in kind and the two embraced for a few minutes before breaking away.

"I'm not hungry… feel like having dinner?" Irene purred at him, standing and pulling him up with her.

"I don't think I'm…" Sherlock started, embarrassed.

"Shh," Irene silenced his protest with her mouth, "I can wait." She smiled before adding, "I'm sure you're worth it."

With this she unlinked her hand from his and proceeded to the kitchen.

"How about literal dinner then? Do you have any take away numbers?" She called, rummaging through the drawers.

"Right, near the door." He replied before switching on the television and switching to the Jeremy Kyle show –he needed to insult people.

"There isn't one near the door!"

"In my bedroom!"

"Okay!" Irene smiled at how the conversation sounded like one that might be held by a long term couple.

Five minutes later Sherlock was shouting at the telly, "No! No! No! Of course he isn't the father! Look at how his nose pinches in!"

"Are they being stupid again darling?" Irene asked as she re-entered the room.

Sherlock grunted in reply and shifted his weight to the right so they could both sit in the spacious chair.

"Chinese or Indian?" Irene sat down next to him, now wearing loose trackie bottoms and a low-cut teal shirt that covered her shoulders. Sherlock also noticed that she'd now put her hair up in a ponytail out of the way, she didn't think he noticed any of these changes –but he did, and he wondered how she could still look so stunning.

"Chinese." Sherlock replied and Irene picked up the phone.

Putting one leaflet behind her on the table, she dialled the number on the remaining leaflet and snuggled up close to Sherlock who put an arm around her small frame awkwardly.

"Hello, my name is Victoria Poteen I would like to order the hoisin duck for two with some egg fried rice please." She looked up at Sherlock, "Anything else darling?" He shook his head and she returned to the phone, "No thank you, nothing else. 221b, Baker Street. Okay, thank you." She put down the receiver.

"How long?" Sherlock asked.

"Ten minutes if the traffic's good." Irene replied, leaning her head on his chest.

"So about half an hour then?" Sherlock relaxed slightly as he felt her head fall on his chest.

"Probably." Irene grinned.

There was silence for a moment.

"About us…" Sherlock coughed as he said this.

"What about us?" Irene asked, looking up at him.

"What are we exactly?" He finished, refusing to look at her.

"What do you mean?" She frowned.

"Are we in a relationship?" He choked out.

"Well this is the closest to one that I've ever been." She admitted.

He nodded, "If I act differently in public, take no notice. You know I dislike physical displays of affection."

"I know." She whispered, turning her attention to the television.

They sat without saying anything for the next twenty minutes, watching people get DNA tests back in-between all the crying and tantrums.

_Ding dong. _

"I'll get it." Irene stood, reaching for her purse which she'd left on the table.

"No, let me." Sherlock stood also.

"Okay." Irene sat back down, smiling. "They were quicker than we thought."

Sherlock quickly walked down the stairs and opened the door, but instead of finding a delivery man he found Lestrade looking at him, and he was grinning.

"Sherlock, we have a case for you. And it's most certainly _not_ boring!"

"With the fact that you're here I take it you need me now?"

"Yep, if it's not too much hassle. I heard about John by the way, I'm sorry." Lestrade looked down as Sherlock beckoned him in and shut the door behind him.

"Why? He'll be fine." Sherlock replied as the two walked up the stairs.

"You know darling," Irene stood as the two entered; "there is such a thing as feelings. Most people have them." She turned to Lestrade as Sherlock disappeared in search of a coat, "You must be Detective Inspector Lestrade." She smiled and held out her hand, "Irene Adler, I've heard a lot about you."

"And I you." He replied, shaking her hand. "I thought you were dead?"

"So did I." She laughed, "But Sherlock was there to save the day again." She added, grinning at the aforementioned man as he walked in the room.

"Yes, well we'll see you later." Lestrade finished, turning towards the door.

"Oh come on." Irene put her hands on her hips as the two turned to look at her, "An exciting murder and you expect me to stay at home? You really don't know me at all."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Two minutes to change or we're leaving without you." Irene smiled a dazzling smile before scampering off to the room they now shared.

"You have a… woman." Lestrade stated, still in a temporary state of shock.

"Not _a_ woman. _The_ woman." Sherlock smiled smugly.

"Yes indeed." Lestrade chuckled. "_Your_ woman now." Sherlock looked at him strangely. "What?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"'fraid so mate."

"How do I look?" Irene strutted back in, wearing black tights, black heels, a short black skirt, a white blouse and a black jacket. Her hair was still up, but now in a more business/dominatrix style.

Sherlock gulped, "Good, very business-like."

Irene grabbed his hand and followed Lestrade out of the door. The three got into a police car and started driving off.

"Where exactly are we going?" Sherlock asked as the car pulled away from the pavement.

"Tower Bridge. The whole thing has been closed off to the public."

"Why? What happened?" Irene asked, crossing her legs.

"Mass suicide."

"Now that, I've never dealt with before." Sherlock tried to hide his grin and failed miserably.

"Don't get so excited darling, people might mistake you for a psychopath." Irene joked.

"Don't laugh about this. It's serious stuff. And Sherlock, Donovan and Anderson are there. I've told them you're alive and that they aren't to tell anyone else."

"Fine." Sherlock muttered sulkily.

"Who are they?" Irene asked, trying not to laugh out loud at the man next to her.

"Donovan was the one who made everyone think Sherlock was mental, and Anderson… well Anderson's just a bastard." Lestrade answered.

"Hmm, this Donovan and I need to have a little chat I think." Irene said primly.

"Don't be too harsh on her please. Sixteen dead bodies are enough for today. Oh and I like the disguise by the way Sherlock, when you came to the door I didn't realise it was you until you started speaking."

"Good. I just hope people won't recognise me either." Irene bit her lip.

"Your hair is a big change so I doubt people will make the connection." Lestrade answered.

"How did they kill themselves?" Sherlock butted into their conversation.

"Hung themselves off the bridge." Lestrade replied solemnly.

"Oh dear God!" Irene exclaimed, "Wait, I thought it had been blocked off years ago!"

"It was. Steel doors, deadlock bolts –the works."

"And that's why I'm here." Sherlock added, "Because the door is what, gone? Blown up?"

"Gone." Lestrade was impressed, "There were also thirty security guards between the door and the ground. All disappeared. This makes us think that maybe it was something more than "We're all going to commit suicide, we should do it together.""

Sherlock nodded as the car slowed.

"Why are we stopping?" Irene asked, "We're still two streets away."

"Too many people." Lestrade replied, honking his horn to make people move out of the way. When this didn't work, he switched on the sirens and the public parted like the red sea.

"Nice trick." Sherlock smirked as the car was let through security.

"You may want to brace yourselves for what you're about to see." Lestrade said as he parked the car and got out.

Sherlock got out of the car and Irene scooted over so she could get out his side too. She stepped out of the car and looked up at the bridge in front of her.

"Oh my God." She whispered; her hand flying to her mouth. The scene was something out of a horror movie, thirty bodies lay hanging, police surrounding the bridge, pedestrians in a state of shock, pushing forwards with morbid fascination. The victims families were all gathered in a clump, many crying. "Sherlock it's horrible." She choked out as tears sprung to her eyes.

He sensed her distress and wrapped his arms around her comfortingly, looking the bridge over himself. It was a gut wrenching sight, from this far away he could only tell that there were twenty one men and nine women hanging. Thirty. Too exact. The same number as the amount of security guards that went missing. Obviously not the same people… but there was always a connection.

"Come on." He whispered to Irene and she straightened up, wiping her eyes before taking his hand in hers. The two followed Lestrade to the police tape where Donovan was standing.

"Hello freak." She muttered, "So, you're alive then?"

"Apparently so." Sherlock replied coldly, ducking under the tape. Irene followed his lead but Donovan put an arm in front of her.

"Who are you?" she asked, looking her up and down.

"She's with me." Sherlock replied, glaring at Donovan.

"He doesn't have friends. So what are you to him?" Donovan asked, sizing Irene up.

"I'm his lover dear." Irene replied, looking at the young girl with equal distaste. She loved saying that to people… their reactions were always priceless.

The two walked off hand in hand, leaving Donovan with her mouth hanging open.

"Now that was entertaining." Sherlock smirked and kissed Irene, making sure Donovan was still looking as he did so.

"John will be disappointed to miss a case darling. How about you take some pictures for him?" Irene asked as she broke away.

"I thought you were the expert at taking pictures." Sherlock joked.

"Fine." Irene laughed before getting out her new camera phone.

"I hope you won't take any compromising photos of me with that." Sherlock added humour to his voice but secretly he was rather worried about it.

"No promises dear." She winked at him before taking some long shots of the bridge.

"I take it we're going up?" Sherlock asked Lestrade when they caught up with him.

"Yep. Hope neither of you are afraid of heights!" Was the reply he received as they walked towards the base of one of the main frames of the bridge.

"So it's true. The God is back." Anderson appeared out of nowhere, stepping in front of the trio and Irene immediately reached for Sherlock's hand again –she didn't want him to punch the man.

"Anderson." Sherlock nodded his head solemnly.

"And who's this pretty lady?" He asked, gliding over to Irene and reaching a hand out to touch her face.

Sherlock grasped his wrist and growled, "Lay a finger on her and I will personally make sure you join the party above our heads."

Anderson withdrew his hand quickly. "You could do better." He said to Irene.

"So could you." She said, looking from him to a distant Donovan.

"How did you-?" Anderson was in a temporary state of shock.

"Sherlock would never settle for a normal person now would he?" She smirked before turning to Lestrade, "Shall we continue?"

"Yeah, sure." Lestrade laughed and started leading the way again.

Lestrade and Irene kept up the small talk leaving Sherlock to his own deductions.

"This is where the door should have been." Lestrade interrupted Sherlock when they reached the top of the stairs.

Sherlock nodded in response, the 'door' had been a piece of steel welded into place. There were little marks on the walls around the door indicating a minor explosion, other than that the place had been clean the whole way up… Sherlock didn't like that.

One of the two 'galleries' there were to walk across had had a section the crosses of metal cut. It appeared the victims had done this so they could climb out and tie themselves at different places along it. Sherlock could see a massive crane parting the public in order to come to the bridge and get the people down.

"Any theories?" A short man had appeared behind Sherlock.

"Depends on who you are." He replied with a smirk.

The man gave a short laugh, "Harry Pearce. Head of MI5 and an ally Mr Holmes."

"You said you wouldn't tell anyone else." Sherlock growled at Lestrade.

"Now, now Sherlock, Harry is an old friend. I would trust him with my life." Lestrade replied, clapping a hand on Harry's shoulder as he spoke.

"Pleasure then." Sherlock said, shaking his hand. "Well what are your theories?"

"Do you really think you'd be here if we weren't completely stymied?" Harry asked.

Sherlock clicked his neck before turning back to the bridge.

"Thirty. Too precise. Too organised. This wasn't just mass suicide, this was a message."

"Who to?" Harry asked eagerly.

"I don't know." Sherlock admitted. "My first thought was…" he trailed off, he didn't want to really display this particular view to the man in charge of the country's security but it had to be done, "that it was a direct hit on MI5. Showing how the security even in a place like this is, limited." Sherlock chose his word carefully. "We'll know more when I can have a look at the bodies."

Harry nodded, "I'll have a car pick you up from your house at ten am tomorrow morning. You won't be able to find clearance before then, even with a brother like Mycroft Holmes." Harry smirked before walking off, "Nice meeting you."

"Sherlock!" Sherlock had almost forgotten that Irene was there. He ran over to where she was standing at the other end of the bridge.

"You need to use my alias in front of people." He whispered to her.

"Well we_ aren't _in front of people." She pointed out, gesturing around the deserted gallery.

"Ah. Yes. Well… What is it?" Sherlock asked as he tried to recover his composure.

"Him." Irene said quietly, pointing below them, looking through the steel crosses that made up the floor and to the man hanging directly under them. His head was lolled back so his face could easily be seen.

"Do you know him?" Sherlock asked, studying the man's face.

"Yes." Irene nodded, as a tear rolled gracefully down her cheek, "He was my father." She whispered the last bit and it took a moment for the words to register with Sherlock.

"Lestrade! I want that man first priority to be taken down okay?" Sherlock took Irene's hand and strode over to the man mentioned, pointing back towards where the man hung.

"Sure." Lestrade replied without thinking, "Wait, why?" He asked, coming to his senses.

"I don't completely know." Sherlock frowned, looking at Irene who was now forcefully trying to stop her body shaking from the impact of crying.

"Looks like you'd better get her home." He said to Sherlock who nodded.

"Thanks for the case." He grinned before whisking off, Irene being dragged behind.

The second they were in the stairwell and away from prying eyes, he stopped and turned to her.

"Are you alright?" He asked, taking hold of her shoulders.

"Do I look bloody alright Sherlock?!" Irene screamed at him. Of course, out of all the women he could have picked, he had to pick the one that would be point blank honest and not just graciously pretend to be fine. "He was my – m-my-" Her body collapsed with sobs and Sherlock wrapped his arms around her. He was trying to get used to physical contact but he still found it odd.

"Look, I'm going to get you home. You're going to rest and not be so… emotional and we'll talk tomorrow okay?" She nodded her head, her eyes tight shut. "Okay then." Sherlock let out a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure to cope with women dealing with _feelings._

He took her by the hand and guided her down the rest of the steps.

"What have you done now?" Anderson asked, as Sherlock pushed past him.

"Always said he's a psycho." Donovan responded, "Now he's gone and beat up a bloody woman. Mental he is. Wrong in the head."

All through this little speech, Sherlock had felt Irene trying to struggle out of his grip. He had held on valiantly, but with one last tug, Irene broke free, turned to Donovan and punched her square in the jaw.

"You say one more bloody word sweet heart. I dare you." She glared at the girl menacingly causing her to stagger backwards, shocked and hurt.

"You shouldn't have done that." Sherlock said warningly, slipping his arm around Irene's waist and leading her to a free road so they could catch a cab. She looked at him sceptically through red eyes, "Not saying I'm annoyed you did it though." He grinned and she smiled back.

Frankly, he was just relieved she'd stopped crying.


	4. Welcome To My Nightmare

**Hello again dears! Fourth chappie is here! :D I love writing this fic :3 thanks for all the support so far! Reviews really make my day so please leave some for me! ;) **

"Look Sherlock I'm sorry I broke down it's jus-"

"Don't apologise." Sherlock cut Irene off, taking hold of her shoulders as they entered the flat. It was just shy of ten o'clock. They had walked back to save the trouble of getting a taxi amongst the rabble. It had taken a long time, and Sherlock could tell Irene was tired… and emotional. He shuddered inwardly at the word 'emotions'. "Get some sleep, we-we'll talk in the morning." He said stiffly.

Irene nodded in response, "Are you coming to bed soon?" She asked as she walked off to the room they shared.

"Probably not." Sherlock admitted, "I don't tend to sleep on a case."

"Okay, you need to get some sleep at some point though, your brain won't function properly otherwise." She called as she changed out of her business attire and into cotton shorts and a top.

"I thought I was meant to be the smart one in this flat!" He yelled back, slightly indignantly.

"Yes, yes. You just keep believing that dear." Was the reply he received, causing him to frown.

Irene slipped between the silky sheets. She hadn't seen her father since she was fourteen years old, but the man on the bridge was definitely him; only older.

She didn't want to think about it and turned on her side, trying to push the thoughts into the back of her mind. It didn't work. All she could think of was the last time she saw him… that look in his eyes. That horrible, horrible look.

Sherlock could hear the soft crying coming from his room. He didn't know whether to comfort her or not. He decided it best to let her cope on her own for a bit and resigned to his favourite chair to think about the information he had gathered… which wasn't much in all honesty.

After a while the crying stopped and Irene fell asleep with tear stains still streaked down he cheeks. She had been glad Sherlock hadn't come in; she didn't like people seeing her when she was weak.

Sherlock stayed in his chair until he heard the clock 'dong' twelve times –indicating midnight. He stood slowly and crept to his room. Irene was curled up on her left side on the edge of the bed, her hands below her face as though she had fallen asleep in the process of wiping tears away.

Sherlock noiselessly removed his clothes before rummaging around in his various draws for some pyjamas. After finding some he pulled them on and slid into bed –the opposite side from Irene.

His feelings for her were well and truly classified under 'sentiment' by now (he shuddered at the thought) but he wasn't prepared to take things too quickly so kept a wide distance between them both as he too drifted off.

Sherlock woke up again, groggily. He turned to look at his clock: it read '02:37'.

Why had he woken up after such little sleep?

He soon realised the reason however, a second later when Irene kicked out in her sleep again. While they weren't a tangle of messy limbs this time, they were still considerably closer than the positions from which they had started out.

Irene scowled in her sleep, tossing over again, and again. Her expression becoming more and more distressed as she fought with her imagination. She thrashed out, hitting Sherlock hard in the stomach; her head rocking from side to side as she moaned in frustration.

Sherlock didn't know what to do, he didn't know whether he should wake her up or let the nightmare run its course.

"Irene, Irene wake up." He said gently, trying to shake her awake. "Irene." He shook her more forcefully and she struggled against his hold. "Irene, wake up!" He practically shouted in a final attempt to wake her.

"No! Don't go! Please! Don't go! Daddy! Daddy please!" Irene screamed as Sherlock finally succeeded in waking her up. She sat bolt upright sobbing hysterically.

"Shh, shh it's okay." Sherlock hushed her, instinctively wrapping his arms around her small frame protectively, refraining from making a comment about how obvious it was that she was an only child.

"Please! Please…" She trailed off, clinging to him as though she was never going to let go.

"Just calm down." Sherlock said slowly, trying to help her regain her normal breathing pattern. "When you have, I think it's time you told me about your father."

Irene nodded aimlessly, still trying to supress sobs.

After her breathing pattern had regulated Sherlock turned to look at her. She was visibly shaking.

"How many years were you therapy for?" He asked.

"Four." Irene replied quietly.

"What happened?" He prompted.

"Tell me how much you already know." She whispered, refusing to look at him.

"You obviously come from money. You grew up in Belgravia, not the house you lived in as an adult though. Your parents broke up, you were very close to your father but you rarely got to see him. You lived with your mother but were cared for by an array of nannies. Oh, and you're an only child."

"It that it?" she asked, teasingly.

"I'm afraid so." He cleared his throat awkwardly, "Care to extend my points?"

"My parents divorced when I was nine, I took it rather personally because my mother got custody of me and only let me see my father once a month. He had brought me up as he worked at home and mother worked in the city… I never saw her really. I still don't know why they broke up; they never deemed me old enough to talk to about it. One day when I was fourteen, my father came to meet me after a dance class, he had two men behind him and he told me this would be the last time I ever saw him. He told me to stay away from him for my own safety. I tried to run to him, tried to make him stay, tried to get a reason. The men told him to get into the car, he did this and they told him to drive off while they held me back. He started driving off and he-he-h" Irene broke into sobs again, "He never came back." She whispered the last sentence, her voice full of tears as they gushed down her face.

Sherlock looked at her, "Is that what you were dreaming about?"

"No." Irene shook her head uncertainly, "Well, not really. Sort of, except it was different."

"What was it?" He pushed, curiosity making him forget all about this new found sentiment he had been feeling.

"I don't want to talk about it." Irene replied, looking at the bed sheets and not him.

"Tell me." He said firmly.

She looked up at him through tear-filled eyes, "You wouldn't understand." She said softly.

"Try me." Sherlock said less fiercely, putting a hand on hers (which was resting on the duvet). The gesture made her think; it was so sweet, so unlike Sherlock… maybe she could tell him?

"I dreamt that we were in the same place but instead of my father driving away it was you and he was holding me back to stop me following you." Irene said all this very fast then waited for his reaction. She was terrified he'd throw her out telling her she was 'too sentimental'. What she didn't expect was what actually happened.

Sherlock removed his hand from hers and instead moved it to cup her cheek, he kissed her –softly at first, but he became rougher and Irene had to pull away for air.

This made Irene smile but the smile didn't last long, "Promise you'll never do that to me." She said earnestly, looking up into his eyes, "Promise you'll never leave me without good reason."

"Only if you promise the same." Sherlock said.

"What do you think?" She half smirked at him, regaining her defiant streak.

"Good." Sherlock smiled, "Now, try and get some sleep? We have eight hours until we can see the bodies."

"Okay." Irene replied, nestling in-between the sheets and pulling herself closer to Sherlock. He sank down next to her, one arm wrapping around her waist as her hands tangled themselves in his messy hair. "Night." Irene muttered, drifting off again.

"Sweet dreams." Sherlock said, kissing the top of her head before he too fell asleep.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

"Urgh." Sherlock groaned and looked at the clock. Seven am. Who was calling at this bloody time?

"Just ignore it dear." Irene murmured from beside him, burying her face further into his chest.

"Sherlock Holmes open this door right now." Mycroft's drawl drifted through the flat.

Sherlock groaned again and Irene smiled, "You'd better go and attend to your big brother." She said, smirking.

"Why can't you?" Was the moody response from the groggy man as he dragged himself out of bed.

"Sherlock!"

"I'm coming!"

Irene stretched and sighed. Maybe she had better get up too, if only to keep the peace between the Holmes brothers.

When she reached the living room Mycroft was sitting in the chair opposite Sherlock's and the latter was up and pacing.

"It can't _just _have been a gas leak! Remember the last 'gas leak'!" Sherlock shouted, rubbing his hands over his eyes.

"Morning Mycroft." Irene ignored Sherlock and plonked herself down in his favourite chair.

"Miss Adler." Mycroft replied politely before turning to Sherlock, "I'm afraid that is the case little brother. Anyway, I heard from Harry that you're on the Tower Bridge case, so that should keep you occupied for a while."

"What do you know about this Harry character?" Sherlock asks sulkily, "Everyone seems to know him except me."

"Harry Pearce?" Irene asks looking up.

"How does everyone know him?!" Sherlock yelled.

"Harry has played a big part in our countries current political state. How do you know him Miss Adler?" Mycroft asked.

"My father was a close friend of his." She turned to Sherlock, "Is he the man you were talking to on the bridge yesterday?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Oh my God! I haven't seen him since I was in my teenage years!"

Sherlock looked at Irene. He could read from her face that there was something connecting Harry and her father's disappearance. She nodded discreetly -with confirmation- and he decided to not pry until Mycroft was no longer in their presence.

"What was that?" Mycroft asked immediately.

"What was what?" Sherlock spat.

"That. That look the two of you just shared. The 'we know something Mycroft doesn't' look." Mycroft's brow knitted together as he said this.

Sherlock scoffed, "We were just thinking about what your brother and I did last night." Irene interjected. She said the words to Mycroft but her eyes never left Sherlock's.

"Yes…" Sherlock decided to play along, "It was very, _educational_." He added; his eyes also glued to hers.

"I didn't need to know that." Mycroft trailed off uncertainly.

"You asked." Irene smirked, raising an eyebrow at the man.

"She has a point dear brother." Sherlock echoed, rising from the sofa and gesturing for Irene to get out of his chair. She obliged but sat back down on his lap the second he took her place.

"Why are you really here Mycroft?" Sherlock asked coldly while Mycroft eyed the couple with distaste.

Mycroft had never liked beating about the bush. It wasted time and frankly annoyed him quite a bit.

"Mummy's dead." He said simply, looking Sherlock straight in the eye.

Irene looked from brother to brother, waiting for a reaction to emerge from one of them. But neither moved for a long time until Sherlock abruptly stood, causing Irene to fall to the floor.

"Where are you going?" She called after him as he grabbed his coat and made for the door.

She didn't get a reply, but then, she didn't expect to.

"I didn't even know your parents were still alive." She admitted to Mycroft, repositioning herself on the chair Sherlock had neatly vacated.

"Father isn't. He died eleven years ago, but neither of us cared for him much so we only mourned because it was proper. Sherlock and mummy were very close however; I don't know how he's going to react." Mycroft looked down.

"Should I go after him?" Irene asked, looking at the spot where Sherlock had exited.

"If he isn't home by five I should. I'll call Harry and tell him the two of you won't be coming down today."

Irene nodded, she wouldn't be seeing the body of her now deceased father but it didn't bother her too much. She had mourned him when he first left, and now Sherlock needed her, so she concluded to push her own troubles to the back of her mind for now.

"Text me if anything goes drastically wrong." Mycroft said as he stood up. "Until the next time Miss Adler." And with a flick of his umbrella, he was gone, and Irene was along in 221b once more.

Irene sighed at ran a hand through her hair. It felt horrible. She sighed again before heaving herself to her feet and walking to the bathroom. She stripped down and stepped into the shower, turning it on and letting the water fall over her body. She didn't want to wait until five pm to go and find Sherlock, but at the same time, she didn't know where to start looking.

John would.

She should go and visit him anyway, out of common courtesy, and, if she was lucky, she might be able to grab an idea of where Sherlock would be.

She washed her hair quickly and exited the shower. She threw her nightwear from the floor into the dirty washing basket –which she assumed was dealt with by Mrs Hudson- and made her way to the bedroom she now shared with Sherlock in little more than a towel.

Walking over to the still un-emptied shopping bags, she pulled out some underwear, a bra, denim skinny jeans, black matt heels, and a black knit pull-over, all of which she quickly donned before leaving the flat and hailing a cab.

Five minutes later she was at the hospital.

"I'm here to see John Watson!" She said exasperatedly for the third time. "I don't have any ID because I left it at my flat!" 'Because I'm supposed to be dead.' She thought.

"I'm afraid we can't let you in to see him without ID ma'am." The nurse replied stubbornly, folding her arms over her chest, "And anyway, he's sleeping now."

Irene had got as far as to the point that she was standing outside his hospital doors.

"Oh hello again!" The chirpy voice of Molly Hooper sounded from behind Irene and she whirled round at once.

"Molly, I have _never _been so relieved to see anyone before in my life! Please tell this nurse how I am a legitimate visitor!" If Molly didn't recount her story both the women in front of her would end up in casualty.

"It's true Nancy." Molly said immediately, and Irene's liking for the girl instantly rose.

"And you're sure you know her?" 'Nancy' pushed, indignantly.

"Quite sure." Molly smiled, "I was just going to see John myself actually. So if you don't mind Nancy." She looked at the nurse expectantly and after some mental deliberation the latter obliged.

"Thank you." Irene whispered the second they had entered the room, "Elizabeth by the way," she held out her hand, "I don't think I told you that yesterday." She laughed –partly at her new alias and partly at the expression on the girl's face when she remembered their first meeting. Molly shook her hand before the two turned to a sleeping John.

"We'd better not wake him." Molly reasoned, "I'll just leave these here; see you Elizabeth." Putting some flowers by his bedside she swiftly left.

The second she had gone Irene turned to John and reached out a hand, "John! John wake up!" she 'whispered', shaking him awake.

"Wazzappening?" John muttered groggily, turning over to face Irene –his eyes lit up.

"Coffee?" She asked when she noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

"No, thank you. I'm fine." He said, clearing his head as he sat up against his headboard. "I already had Mycroft in here at some ungodly hour this morning telling me the whole thing was just a gas explosion." He chuckled, "Where's Sherlock?" He frowned as he said this, looking around the room as though expecting the man to appear magically.

"Mycroft came to see us too. Their mother is dead." Irene pulled up a chair and leant back in it.

"Their mother?! I assumed she'd died ages ago!" John exclaimed.

"So did I." Irene replied, "But you see, Mycroft told Sherlock and he just left. Sherlock I mean. I don't know where he went. He didn't say anything. Do you know where he might have gone?" There was a sense of desperation to her voice that made John's chest ache.

"Um I don't know." He said, running a hand through his hair, "Have you got a pen? I could give you a list of possible places. I'd come of course but…"

"I know." Irene smiled at him and handed him her phone, "Just type it in, it will be easier."

John nodded and obliged, handing it back to her when he'd done.

"I'd better get started on this." Irene's eyes rolled over the list on her phone as she stood and returned the chair to its original position.

"Oh. I thought you might stay." John sighed as disappointment washed over him, "I just get so frustrated being cooped up in here on my own!"

"How about I send Mrs Hudson round?" Irene asked and he cocked an eyebrow in response, "Right, boring, sorry. Uhh how about Lestrade?"

John nodded slowly in response.

"Great, thanks again!" Irene smiled, kissing on the cheek before bolting out the door.

He sighed, touched the spot on his cheek where she had kissed him and sunk down into his bed, he shouldn't like Irene like _that_. His best friend was in love with her, and he was pretty sure she was in love with him too. He groaned and rolled over. Why was his love life so bloody complicated?!

**Okay I hope you enjoyed :D Sorry it's a day late again by the way :3 I feel a bit mean making John fall in love with Irene, but it just sort of happened and spices things up a bit so I thought, why not? **


	5. Use Somebody

**Hello! Sorry this chapter is slightly shorter than most, but it's smut so I figured you'd all forgive me ;) **

**Quick re-cap: John's in hospital, Irene and Sherlock went to help on the 'Tower Bridge Case' in which thirty people hung themselves off Tower Bridge and Irene saw her father (who left her when she was young) hanging there dead. The next morning, thoughts of the case were pushed from her head when Mycroft turns up and tells Sherlock their mother has died. Sherlock then takes off and Irene decides to try and find him.**

**Enjoy :3**

"I'm glad you're doing this you know."

Irene exited St Bart's and was shocked when Mycroft instantly appeared from nowhere and fell into step beside her.

"What do you mean?" She asked him, frowning.

"I wanted to see if you really had _sentiments_ for him." Mycroft said, swinging his umbrella.

"The word is feelings Mycroft. Not that you'd know about that." She said as the two turned a corner.

"Where's first on the list?" Mycroft asked, ignoring her quip.

"His own grave… that's a bit odd isn't it?" Her forehead crinkled.

"That's Sherlock." Mycroft smirked as a car pulled up beside them and the window rolled down.

"Sir?" His pretty assistant called from the car, "Sir, Harry Pearce wants to speak to you immediately."

"Yes, of course." Mycroft replied, nodding at her, "Text me when you find him." His last words were directed at Irene.

"She has a crush on you." She whispered as she brushed past him, and Mycroft bristled.

"It's not your place to comment on such things." He glared after her.

"When's that ever stopped me before?" She called over her shoulder, laughing.

"That woman will be the death of me." He shuddered, getting into the car.

"Sherlock?" Irene called as she entered the graveyard. She had never actually been to his grave before, she hadn't seen the point. He was alive after all. She had known he was alive even when she saw the headlines. He was Sherlock Holmes. He would never let himself go so... boringly. She picked her way through the graves gracefully until she reached the black grave that bore the words '_Sherlock Holmes'_. She turned around looking for him. "Sherlock?" She called again but didn't receive a reply.

Sighing, she took out her phone and deleted the first idea on John's list.

One down, three left.

Drip. Drip.

Water fell off the walls of the black tramway.

'This place is a pit.' Thought Irene as she picked her way over the dank cobbles. She stopped about fifty metres in. Sherlock wouldn't be here. Didn't John know his best friend at all? She sighed and turned around, starting to walk back the way she had come when she noticed a mark on the wall.

She walked closer and saw that it was two words sprayed on in yellow graffiti. The words read '_BAD WOLF'_. She frowned, not understanding the message. Probably just another kid trying to rebel and come up with a cool catch phrase, she mused. Even though this was probably the case, she'd rather get out of there soon rather than later. The words had a sinister feel.

Turning on her heel she half ran down the passage and back into open air.

Two down, two left.

Irene looked at the train times from Victoria to Dartmoor. One had left a little over two hours ago. Sherlock had disappeared just over one. Really John, she sighed. Dartmoor? That would be so obvious.

Three down, one left.

Why she hadn't started with this one she didn't know. Mainly because she was hoping John was wrong really. Why would Sherlock go onto the roof of St Bart's? Did he want her to have a heart attack?! He didn't want to jump… she hoped.

She pushed open the heavy metal door and saw him standing on the edge, looking down at the pavement he had landed on all those months ago.

"Sherlock." She tried to keep her voice steady as he turned to face her, still on the edge. "Sherlock, please get off the ledge." She took a few steps closer.

"She's dead." His voice was emotionless. "How are people meant to feel in these situations Irene? I don't know how I should feel."

His brow knitted together and he looked at his shoes scowling.

"How _do_ you feel?" She asked; if playing the psychologist would be what it took to get him down from there, she would do it.

"Like I should feel more." He looked up into her eyes as he said this.

"That's how most people feel." She admitted.

"No. No it's not. That's not how you reacted to your father dying." He shouted and shuffled backwards slightly.

"Women react differently to men." She tried to keep the pleading element of her voice concealed as she continued, "Sherlock just please come here."

She was standing about two metres away from him, holding one hand out, wishing he'd take it.

"Why did she have to die?" He whispered.

"That's what people do." She meant it genuinely, trying to show how it's not a special case. She had no idea she was echoing the words Moriarty had once said to him.

His eyes flickered for a second, assessing the situation. She hadn't been there. She couldn't have known. He saw in her eyes that she meant it comfortingly and also saw the smallest trace of fear.

"Please." She whispered and took a step forward.

He hesitated before reaching out and clasping her hand in his own. She pulled him to her immediately wrapping her arms around his waist as though she would never let go. He wrapped his own arms around her small frame.

"Sherlock Holmes don't you bloody do that again. Ever."

He nodded in response.

"Mycroft will arrange the funeral." He said at last. He didn't know what to do for the rest of his day. It was now three in the afternoon –Irene had been looking for him all day.

"Do you want to visit the house where she lived?" Irene asked, looking up at him.

"I'll have to do it sometime. We may as well go now." He replied as he removed her from him and started towards the door.

"Should I tell Mycroft?" She asked, following him as they made their way through Bart's.

"He'll be informed when we arrive." Sherlock's response was vague, but she understood him.

Sherlock hailed a cab and Irene climbed in after him as he gave the cabbie an address. She didn't recognise the address and figured it wouldn't be too far away, but when they had driven half an hour north out of the city in total silence she had to ask where they were headed.

"Where exactly is your mother's house?" She asked the brooding man to her right.

"Huh? Oh, Yorkshire." He waved a hand in her direction dismissively.

"What?! Yorkshire?! I thought we would just pop by! It's nearly four o'clock! We won't get back to the city tonight!" Her eyebrows had shot to her hairline as she ranted at him.

"We can stay the night." Sherlock murmured, deep in thought.

Irene took a deep breath, trying to keep her composure. She wanted to have a go at him about John needing him back in London and how she had just found her father's body. But she didn't… because she didn't want to hurt him. Urgh, she shuddered. She'd become so soppy and sentimental! She was acting like a foreigner. Being this emotion-filled was definitely not a British thing to do. When had her stiff upper lip gone?

It took another few hours to reach Yorkshire. She knew when they were getting close as Sherlock perked up a bit, he sat up straighter and became much more alert to the nearly dark surroundings. As far as Irene could see, they were still in the middle of nowhere.

The last rays of sun however, fell on the black metal gate they had stopped in front of.

"Sherlock, where are we?" She asked as she stepped out of the cab and he paid the driver the hefty sum the long journey had cost them.

"The Holmes estate."

The taxi drove off, leaving the two before the intimidating gates.

"You have an estate?" Irene rasped as Sherlock stepped towards a keypad. He keyed in a four-digit code and the gates slid smoothly open.

"Mycroft does now." He corrected her, starting down the stretching driveway; walking at such a pace that made her nearly run to catch up.

"I underestimated your wealth Mr Holmes." She murmured falling into step beside him.

Their feet crunched on the gravel as they made their way up to the monolithic house. Sherlock's pace didn't slow as he approached the set of thick oak doors set into the front of the building. Instead, it quickened and he hastened to pull a chunky bronze key from his coat pocket and slotted it into the lock, turning it and hearing a satisfying click before opening it and stepping inside.

Irene followed and closed it behind her before turning to look at the interior of the house. It looked like something out of the British drama 'Downton Abbey' in fact, it looked exactly like Downton Abbey. The grand, sweeping staircase, the detailed portraits of various monarchs.

"Sherlock," she started, unable to believe what she was seeing, "are we in the Downton house?"

"Highclere Castle." He replied as he made his way into the recently cleaned study, "but yes, it is used in that programme."

"It's beautiful." She breathed as she followed him, "Do you have staff too?" She asked.

"Normally. But under than these circumstances…" He trailed off and looked down, feeling his glottis tightening. He _would not cry,_ he told himself. Not again.

She came up behind him to where he was standing by the window and placed a hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

"You must be tired." He murmured turning to face her.

She nodded and yawned on cue, causing her to laugh slightly.

"I understand if you want to spend the night alone." She said, looking into his eyes.

"No." He shook his head without giving an explanation and took her hand, pulling her gently out of the study, up the stairs and into the room she instantly recognised as that given to Lady Mary.

"There are clothes in the wardrobe if you want to change." He said, pushing his shoes off, taking his jacket off and climbing under the sheets.

Irene looked at him; he looked so childlike and vulnerable with his back hunched over and his legs curled up towards his chest.

She walked over to the wardrobe he had gestured to and opened it. There were only shirts and trousers. She removed her jeans and jumper and pulled on one of his tops –a black one- before getting into bed behind him.

"Good night." She whispered rubbing his arm, his back was to her and she didn't want to push it.

She received no reply and decided she may as well try and get some sleep. She was just drifting off, her breathing regulated, when she felt the bed shake beneath her. She kept her breathing even but opened her eyes to see Sherlock shaking and trying to supress sobs. She thought of the previous night and how their situation had literally been turned on its head.

"Sherlock." She said quietly, moving closer to him and slipping a hand around his waist. She felt him freeze under her touch, he obviously hadn't realised she was still awake. "It's okay to cry." She soothed, rubbing her hand over his back softly.

He didn't move for a while and she thought he had shut her out, but suddenly he turned around and wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing them as close together as possible before burying his face in her hair and weeping.

She held him for what felt like an eternity. She knew he had never let anyone see this side of him before. This weak, vulnerable, sentimental side. When he stopped crying, his face was very close to her, she could see the teardrops on his eyelashes. Feel his breath on her lips.

He initiated the kiss, ducking his head down and taking her mouth in his possessively, opening her mouth with his tongue as his hands moved to grip her waist. She responded in kind, putting her hands behind his head and pulling him close to her to deepen the kiss as their tongues danced. He trailed kisses down her neck as his hands moved under her top, he cupped her breasts in his hands causing her to emit a sigh he had only ever heard coming from his phone whenever she had texted him. Her hands ran up and down his back as he sucked at the skin on her neck before coming back up and kissing her mouth again.

His hands came out from under her shirt and went to undo the top button. Irene took his wrist in her hand, stopping him, and he looked up at her questioningly.

"You've had a shock, are you sure you want to?" She bit her lip, cursing her own bloody morals.

"Yes," He gulped, "I am. Please." He added at the end.

Her eyes danced as she whispered in his ear, "Twice."

"Please." He repeated and she smirked.

"I win." She winked as her hands swiftly undid the buttons on his shirt and threw it on the floor.

"Oh Miss Adler," His voice was low and seductive in her ear, "I'd call this a draw."

"As you wish Mr Holmes." She played along as his hands went back to undoing her top and his mouth went back to her neck, attacking it.

Her top joined his on the floor fairly quickly and she flipped them over so she was on top. She straddled his waist as leant down, giving him chaste, lust-filled kisses as her hands moved to undo his zipper. She could feel his arousal through his trousers and smirked at the effect she held over him. She undid his belt and slowly pulled his trouser down and off his feet before crawling back over him and kissed him again. Her hands traced patterns on his muscular chest, trailing further down until she reached the rim of his boxers. She slipped her hands under the fabric and stroked his arousal, breaking away from the kiss to watch his reaction.

He gasped as she took him in hand, his eyes wide and his mouth open. Her nails grazed over him and he groaned loudly, arching his back slightly to encourage her. She started moving her hand up and down, making him growl and become breathless until he could stand it no more and flipped them over again. She raised one eyebrow and frowned at him slightly confused until she felt his own hand trace down her body until her reached her opening and pushed two fingers roughly inside. She drew in a sharp breath as he moved them slowly in and out of her.

"Jesus Sherlock!" She cried breathlessly, and he looked up at her wondering why she had said his name. It took him a moment to realise that she was simply uttering it in passion. He withdrew his fingers and she opened her eyes (she didn't know when she'd closed them). Before she could ask why he'd stopped, she felt him pull off her pants and felt a different part of him enter her and she bit down on his shoulder to prevent herself from screaming.

She gulped as he pushed their hips fully together and grabbed her waist. She wrapped her legs around his waist and clawed at his back as he drew out slowly only to thrust back into her. As he set about a steady motion, he reclaimed her lips, though this time, their kisses were not slow and calm, but hasty, passionate and filled with desire. His pace increased and he moved to her neck again, biting and sucking down to her breasts as he took one of her nipples in his mouth and traced around it with his tongue. All these for sensations were too much for Irene and she grabbed his face in her hands and brought it up so it was level with her own.

"Sherlock, if you don't fuck me right now and hard, I will take control of this myself." She purred, pretending to go to flip them back over. She knew this would work. She had always known he would be a dom. He did indeed take her comment very seriously and increased his pace. Each time he thrust forwards, her hips would come up to meet his own, their kisses were frantic now, both coming close to their climaxes.

He grunted as he felt her start to tighten around him, forcing him closer too.

"Oh, God, Irene!" He shouted as, with a final thrust from him and a buck of her hips, he came inside her. She knew it was his first time and expected him to collapse on her shuddering, but instead, he rode out him climax until she too came. They rode out their orgasms before, panting and drenched in sweat, Sherlock slowly withdrew himself from her and lay next to her trying to get his breath back.

Irene turned on her side, laying a hand on his chest and smiled up at him, also breathing heavily. When they had both suitably recovered Sherlock looked at her and asked,

"Was I okay?" He was slightly fearful of the answer however… what if he hadn't been satisfactory?

In answer, she kissed him. "You were amazing." She smiled at him, placing a kiss on his collarbone before burying herself in the crook of his arm.

Sherlock smiled down at her and realised she had fallen asleep already; he planted one last kiss on her forehead before falling asleep himself. Both were smiling.

**Sneaky Doctor Who reference in there ;) This will not turn into a crossover, I just wanted to put it in :3**

**Okay I just **_**had**_** to put the Downton thing in. I'm such a big fan of the show and it's how I imagined the Holmes house.**

**Yah yah they had sex I know, it happens and because of this, the rating was moved up to an M. **


	6. Black Heart

**Hello again! I'll keep this short with a MASSIVE apology. I was travelling between various different cities in multiple countries last week, so I missed an update! Argh! I know; I feel terrible! But here is the next chapter (regrettably about 300 words less than normal, but it was this or the chapter would have been double the size and you would have missed ANOTHER update.**

**Summary: Sherlock has found out his mother died and was extremely upset. He ran away, Irene found him and suggested they go to his mother's house. They go there, they have sex etc. **

**Enjoy :3**

Irene woke lazily the next morning. She inhaled and smelt the clean, antiseptic smell she had come to associate with Sherlock. She could feel his pectoral muscles under her chin and felt his hand draped across her waist.

"Good morning." He murmured, kissing the top of her head as she opened her eyes.

"Good morning to you too." She purred in response, before reaching up and claiming his lips with hers in a sensual kiss. "If John could see you now..." She teased when she pulled away, and Sherlock's face twisted into a disgusted expression.

"I'm sure he would me moderately horrified." He concluded, looking at her with raised eyebrows. She merely smirked in response before sliding off the bed and putting her pants and Sherlock's black top back on.

"I take it your staff are still away and that I will have to make breakfast myself?" She joked as she pulled open the curtains with a flourish, filing the room with early morning sunlight.

"I'm afraid so." Sherlock dead panned. A smirk pulling at one side of his lips.

"Coming?" Irene asked. But instead of a verbal response, Sherlock stood as well and pulled on his boxers and black trousers.

When he had clothed himself, Irene led the way down the hall and through the little green door at the end of it before starting down the stairs.

"How do you know your way around my house?" Sherlock frowned.

"It's on television for two months every year and is one of the nation's favourite programmes. Anyone in England would be able to navigate around it without a second thought." She replied laughing as they came to the bottom of the stairs and turned right into the kitchen.

She saw Sherlock squirm at her words in her peripheral vision and smirked, busying herself with pulling various cereal boxes off the shelves before pouring two bowls of cornflakes and milk.

Se held one out to Sherlock but he simply looked at her as though she was stupid.

"I don't eat breakfast." He stated in his 'bored' tone.

"But you must be hungry after last night." She purred deliciously just as his stomach growled. "Point made." She took far too much delight I outwitting Sherlock and she knew this, but she still couldn't bring herself to reign her remarks in.

Scowling, Sherlock took the bowl he was still holding out to him and made his way into the servants hall.

They sat opposite each other through breakfast but said nothing. Instead making intense eye contact that to anyone else would be considered awkward, to them it was borderline normal.

"The servants will be back in the evening so don't bother washing up." Sherlock said, taking their bowls and putting then next to the sink when they had both finished.

When he came back in, Irene had moved around the table to stand right in front of him.

"You used to be so sweet and innocent." She mused, pouting, as she ran her slim fingers through his hair. "Then you met me." She finished in a whisper, brushing her lips against his softy.

"Indeed." Sherlock replied, his voice surprisingly low and she felt his pulse quicken under her touch.

Irene felt alive. Ever since she was fourteen she had had her mask of indifference firmly in place. It had never wavered for anyone, anyone but Sherlock Holmes. She found that she could be herself around him, and the thought made her feel dizzy. Struck by a sudden childish impulse, she pulled away from him and produced his phone (which se ha retrieved from him pocket in their intimate moment).

He frowned as she dangled his phone in front of her face, her eyes dancing mischievously.

"Catch me if you can!" She laughed, before taking off up the stairs.

The stone was cold and rough on her feet but this only made her run faster; up the first flight of stairs and put into the large reception room.

While Irene was fast, Sherlock was faster, and as she exited the staircase, he managed to grab her wrist, spinning her round and pinning her to one of the stone pillars with his body.

Irene giggled as he snatched his phone out of her hand with a "Thank you very much!"

Their faces were very close together and her breathing momentarily hitched as she studied his Cupid-bow lips. She could feel Sherlock's hands sitting possessively on her waist and realised her own were resting on the top of his chest, her nails tickling his neck. Their gazes were locked, neither moving closer or further away, the tension building until...

"Ahem." The impatient tap of an umbrella on the hard wood floor accompanied the declaration and the couple both turned their heads to see Mycroft standing by the door.

Sherlock moved away immediately and Irene missed the warmth his body provided.

Mycroft looked uneasy, and Irene realised this was due to the lack of attire concerning her and Sherlock.

"I see you found him Miss Adler." He said through tight lips.

"It would appear. What do you want Mycroft?" Sherlock answered for her.

"I came to look at the house, and run through mother's financials. Anything you want you may have, just be sure to tell me so I can take it off the insurance." The corner of Mycroft's lip quirked.

"Why would I want anything?" Sherlock asked immediately.

"Sentimental value?" Mycroft gazed at him with a crooked eyebrow.

"I thought the three of us had already established the dangers of sentiment." He replied stonily.

He was, of course, referring to their meeting in Mycroft's office after flight 007 failed to leave the ground. Irene shifted slightly onto her left foot, feeling uncomfortable. For one, she didn't like it when he brought these kinds of things up; secondly, did Sherlock really still think sentiment was so dangerous? If he did, then what did they have?

"I will be in the study." Mycroft's voice interrupted her train of thoughts as the man walked into said adjoining room.

"Is that still how you honestly feel?" Irene asked, turning to Sherlock who looked at her, confused. "Do you really think that sentiment is stupid?" She elucidated when he didn't catch on and cursed herself when she heard her voice crack on the last word.

"Irene…" Sherlock started, but he found that he didn't really know what to say and instead trailed off awkwardly.

"No Sherlock. Tell me, is that how you feel? Do you think sentiment is stupid? Do you think that whatever we have is stupid?" Irene could hear the strain in her voice but refused to acknowledge it.

"Why would you even think that?" Sherlock asked, lowering his voice so that his brother would not overhear.

"Think about what you just said Sherlock. Come and find me when you've worked out them problem!" Irene huffed before stalking out of the front door. She could feel the tears stinging in her eyes and she didn't know why she felt so hurt. _It's Sherlock Holmes, _she thought,_ how could I ever have even hoped that I would have some kind of place in his heart? He can't feel those kinds of things apparently. _

Back in the hall, Sherlock ran a hand through his hair as he watched Irene's retreating figure walk across the grounds. He thought back over the conversation they had just shared, mentally replaying it. Sentiment. That was it. She was annoyed because she thought he didn't care for her. But he did. God help him he did.

He sighed before taking off at a run after her. When he found her, she was seated on the ground at the foot of an old oak tree. Brushing tears off her cheeks hastily. He sat down next to her, his posture rigid.

"I'm sorry." He said slowly, looking at her out of the corner of his eye to gage her reaction. However, when she didn't react, he sensed the need to continue. "I don't think sentiment is stupid in that way. The theory of it seems so, but it's not that simple." He grimaced, carefully selecting his next words. "I used to think it was ridiculous. I thought it was absurd to let someone or something effect you in such a way… but then I met you." He turned to face her fully. "And I realised it was not so, simple."

Irene turned to look at him and focused her penetrating stare on his eyes. It was as though she could see into him soul and tell whether he was telling the truth or not. He was of course, and in response she raised a shaking hand and placed it on the side of his face, drawing him closer and kissing him softly. Sherlock wanted to deepen the kiss, but realised she didn't want sex now. She wanted love, comfort, and he would give her that.

When she pulled back, Irene was smiling at him, her cheeks flushed.

"Are you sure there is nothing you want from the house?" She asked, looking over at the building.

"Well I suppose…" Sherlock frowned in thought.

"Yes?" Irene prompted.

"There is jigsaw in the dining room. It is one thousand pieces, mother and I did it together during the summer holidays when I was nine and father had it framed. I suppose, I would like that." He pondered.

"Let's go get it." Irene smiled, stood and stretched out her hand for Sherlock to take. He did so and the couple walked hand in hand across the glass.

"Ouch, shit!" Irene exclaimed as her still bare foot caught on a tree root leaving a deep cut.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock asked immediately, bending down to examine her foot.

"Yes, I think I'll go for a jog." She said sarcastically, lifting her foot off the ground like an injured animal.

Without saying anything else, Sherlock promptly picked her up bridal style, and carried her into the house just as Mycroft was coming out of the study.

"Are you married now?" He asked icily. He was intent on making it perfectly clear to his brother that he didn't approve of the match.

"Very funny Mycroft." Sherlock spat, "Where's the first aid kit?"

"In father's old desk." Mycroft commented as he noticed Irene's foot. "I've arranged mother's funeral for tomorrow. Most of the family should be able to make it and I hate to allow such things to lament." He called after his brother who had proceeded into the study. "I'm going back to London for the night. The family will be here at ten tomorrow so please could you both be… appropriately dressed." He finished.

"Yes Mycroft!" Sherlock replied mechanically as he dabbed at Irene's foot with an antiseptic wipe.

She hissed in through her teeth at the stinging sensation.

"Sorry." Sherlock apologised, putting a plaster over the cut and wrapping a bandage around her foot. "Can you walk on it?" He asked and Irene obediently hopped down from the desk she had been seated on and walked a few paces.

"Yes." She replied, turning to him with a radiant smile.

It hurt really, but she didn't want to concern Sherlock.

"Sherlock, come on. We need to get ready." The next morning, Irene sat daintily on the edge of their shared bed and gently shook Sherlock awake.

"How long do we have?" He asked, refusing to face her.

"It's half nine." She replied with the sufficient information.

He grunted in response and swung his legs over the other side of the bed. He looked vulnerable again; scared. She reached out a hand slowly and trailed it over the tense muscles of his right shoulder.

"I'll be right next to you the whole time." She said, and she meant it.

She was shocked that Sherlock was attending the funeral if she was honest. She had assumed his family thought him dead as well, but as he had told her the day before, "A family of their standing relies on discretion." and his twenty or so close relatives (in short, those attending the funeral) had apparently all been great assets in covering up his death.

The previous day, they had also driven to the nearest village and purchased Irene some suitable clothes for the funeral. Now she stood in front of a floor-length mirror in a tight but modest black dress, cut just above the knee. Her hair was up and a black fascinator sat atop her head. She slipped on a pair of black heels before shrugging on a black jacket and turning to Sherlock. He stood stiffly by the door, in a black suit, shirt, shoes and tie. His face was blank. Void of all the emotions that were presently searing through him.

"Our guests are arriving Elizabeth." He purposefully used her alias as a reminder that she would be answering to it all day.

Irene walked over, her mask also in place as the two exited their room and walked down the sweeping staircase to the reception room where the first two guests stood waiting. As promised, the staff had returned that night and now a butler stood by the door, waiting to open it.

"Sherlock dear!" A woman who must have been in her mid-sixties came and hugged Sherlock the second his foot hit the ground floor. The woman was snivelling as she hugged Sherlock before releasing him and blowing her nose on a handkerchief. A man who appeared to be her husband stepped forwards after and shook Sherlock's hand firmly, a sombre expression on his face.

"Elizabeth, this is my aunt Anastasia and her husband Fredrick." He turned to Irene and took hold of her hand in his. "This is my… girlfriend, Elizabeth." He said after a pause.

"Well, at least one good thing has come out of today." Anastasia laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood with a joke. The attempt miscarried and an awkward silence hung over the party.

"So, tell me Miss…?" Anastasia started.

"Poteen." Irene injected with a small smile.

"Miss Poteen, what line of work are you involved in?" She finished as Sherlock wandered off to meet more guests who had arrived.

"I'm a sex counsellor." She replied. She and Sherlock had not discussed the details of her alias so she was thinking on her feet. As far as she could see, the job would suit her… maybe she would consider a career in it. She pondered over the idea for a moment. She had no intention of re-joining her previous line of work, and this way, her skills would not go to waste.

Sherlock's aunt looked as though she was about to pass out from shock, "Very outspoken people are today!" She said breathlessly. The couple made their excuses quickly and moved away to see various other family members who had now arrived.

Irene scouted the room –now containing eleven of the suspected guests- and spotted Sherlock in conversation with a man of approximately his age. She walked over and took Sherlock's arm.

"And who's this?" The man Sherlock had been talking to asked Sherlock upon seeing Irene.

"My girlfriend." Sherlock said bluntly, slipping a possessive arm around Irene's waist.

"Elizabeth Poteen." She smiled slightly as the man took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. She pulled her hand back, perhaps a little too abruptly as she felt Sherlock's nails dig into her side angrily.

"This is my cousin, Edward." Sherlock said to her.

"Pleasure, I'm sure." She smiled politely again.

"Edward!" They heard another man call from across the room.

"I'd better see to father." He smiled before walking away, noticeably surveying Irene posterior as he left.

"Are you okay?" Irene turned to him.

"Could be better." He answered honestly, "We're only waiting for Mycroft now." He added as the aforementioned man strolled through the wide front doors.

"If we are all present, may we proceed?" Mycroft raised his voice, attracting the attention of his family who all followed him out of the front door and into the assortment of old-fashioned cars that were to take them to the church in the nearest village.


	7. Morningtown Ride

Sherlock and Irene sat next to each other in the front row of the small church, neither showing any sign of emotion on their faces. The coffin was brought in, the priest said his part, then Mycroft was invited up to say a few words he'd prepared.

"Mother would appreciate you all being here, it would have meant a lot to her. Sherlock and I are not the sentimental types, but we both miss our mother greatly. Isabella Holmes was a great woman, you are all aware of the great things she did for our country, though she sought no recognition. That is what really set her out as a remarkable person and we are all privileged to have known her." Mycroft's eyes flickered to Sherlock as he spoke his next words, "Sherlock was always mother's favourite. This never bothered me –I was my father's son- but I think it would make her happy to know that Sherlock has found someone." He looked at Irene, as though challenging her to object. She held his gaze and felt Sherlock shift beside her, she thought it was out of discomfort, but felt him take her hand in his own, their fingers interlocking as he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

Mycroft continued for a few more minutes, but neither Sherlock nor Irene paid particular attention. When the service had finished, the family returned to Highclere for a reception.

Sherlock stood by the fireplace looking around the drawing room. There were little clusters of people here and there reminiscing and sharing memories of their time with his mother. Irene was engaged in what appeared to be polite conversation with one of his uncles. He could see how tedious the topic of discussion was from her pained expression and decided to intervene.

"Uncle Ernie, would you mind…?" He asked the wrinkly man.

Said man nodded and walked away to socialise with one of the other guests.

"You're bored." Sherlock stated, looking at Irene steadily.

"So are you." Irene replied, she didn't deny the fact that she was bored, she was sure it was more than obvious.

"I am. Shall we go back home?" He asked, mentally hitting himself for using the word 'home' for the both of them.

"Now?" Irene brow creased. "You have guests, you can't just leave them."

Sherlock smirked at her playfully, "When did Irene Adler begin to care about what is considered acceptable?" he mocked.

She narrowed her eyes at him, "Fine. We don't tell anyone. We just leave."

"That was the idea." Sherlock grinned before walking casually out of the room. Irene scanned around to make sure no one was looking before following him.

"What about my clothes upstairs?" She asked, catching up with his large strides as they walked down the pebbled driveway.

"You can leave them here." He offered her his arm which she immediately took. "The staff should have washed them by now and they're probably wet anyway."

Irene resisted the urge to comment on something else that was wet at that moment. She found it strangely erotic that she and Sherlock were running away from a social situation together, unbeknownst to the guests there.

"What?" Sherlock frowned at her. She looked at him innocently, with one eyebrow raised. "What's that look for?" He continued.

"What look?" She asked; her eyes wide and playful.

"_That_ look," he pointed out, "the 'I'm thinking of something I shouldn't be thinking of' look."

"You." She replied with a quirk of her lips as they walked through the tall gates and started down the country lane that led to the small town of Highclere.

Sherlock looked confused, "What's wrong with thinking about me?" he asked, and Irene stopped herself from laughing at his ignorance -surely he must see what was coming.

"Naked." She finished; a twinkle in her eyes.

"Of course." Sherlock rolled his eyes, "What a lovely mental image for you." he smirked.

"Oh, just the best." Irene purred and stood on her tip toes to kiss his cheek as she felt her pocket vibrate.

She pulled out her phone and read aloud, "'You really are a bad influence on my little brother Miss Adler. Kindly stop leading him astray and bring him straight back. –MH'" She looked up at Sherlock grinning, knowing full well that neither of them had any intention of returning. "How did your brother get my number?" She asked, replacing her phone.

"He has the Queen on speed-dial; I think getting your number must have been fairly elementary for him."

"Fair point." Irene laughed as she saw the village in the distance, "Race you?" she winked at him before slipping her heels off and running barefoot down the deserted road.

"A little immature don't you think?" Sherlock called after her.

"Of course!" She shouted back, getting further and further away from him as time passed.

Sherlock was having an inner debate. He shouldn't be so childish; on the other hand… she was getting awfully far ahead of him.

Abandoning his logical adult brain, he chased after her. While Irene was fast, Sherlock was faster and with her wearing no shoes and dodging carefully around cracks in the road, he caught up with her just as they reached the train station on the outskirts of the village. He grabbed her round the waste and turned her to face him, dipping his head to capture her lips quickly before pulling back smiling.

"Do you want me to pay for the tickets?" She asked him, tilting her head towards the kiosk where a young rail guard sat. He looked alert, almost like a scared rabbit, it was obviously his first day on the job. He frowned, "You don't have any cash on you."

"I don't need cash." She winked at him and strolled over to the desk, swinging her hips flirtatiously. "Excuse me." Irene looked at the boy, smiling. He whipped his round head to look at her, his eyes raked up and down her body in awe. "Could I have two tickets to London please? First class, cabin."

"Uh, of course madame." The boy fumbled with printing the appropriate tickets as Irene pretended to look through her pockets for her purse.

"Oh no!" she exclaimed suddenly, and the child looked at her, his eyes filled with concern.

"What's the matter Miss?" He asked, leaning forwards.

"I've forgotten my purse, I don't have any money, I'm so sorry for wasting your time." Irene bit her lip and turned around to walk off, giving the boy a clear view of her backside.

"You don't have to pay." The boy squeaked, his voice travelling up an octave, "I mean," he started again. "You don't have to pay." He said in a much deeper voice, swallowing.

"Oh you're too sweet." Irene smiled at him dazzlingly as he handed her the tickets. "Thank you." She grinned before walking back to Sherlock.

"Impressive Miss Adler." He cooed, slipping his arm around her waist as they boarded the train, "You booked a cabin? The journey to London isn't overnight you know." He teased, knowing why she had elected to get one really.

"There are things one can do in bed other than sleeping." Irene smirked, leaning up and licking the sensitive spot behind his ear delicately.

"I'm just going to find the men's room." Sherlock moved off in said direction while Irene continued to their carriage, unlocking the door with the key the naïve boy had given her.

She had been glad to get Sherlock away from the house, he had seemed so depressed and she knew exactly how to take his mind off his laborious thoughts. She smirked to herself slyly and sat down on the (very narrow) bed, looking out the carriage window. The train lurched into action and she had to grip the seat to stop herself from tumbling forwards onto the small sofa and desk opposite her.

Sherlock knocked and opened the door, Irene hadn't told him the number so she didn't know how he knew, but she knew it was Sherlock and therefore, sometimes best not to ask questions.

"We have a long train ride ahead of us Mister Holmes." Irene mused, standing and walking joltingly over to him.

"We do." His eye gleamed, knowing what was coming.

"Can you think of anything we could possibly do to pass the time?" She asked, trailing her long nails down the front of his shirt teasingly.

"I can think of a few things." Sherlock raised his eyebrows before grabbing her waist and pulling her into a kiss. She responded in kind and grabbed him by the lapels of his coat, drawing them closer. The train lurched, making them lose their balance and sending them flying onto the bed.

"Well that was well planned." Irene grinned from her position under Sherlock, breaking away for a minute to breath. Sherlock disliked the fact that their mouths were separated and re-joined them instantly.

Irene smiled into the kiss and reached her hand down in between their two bodies to find his crotch. She felt a lump and he broke the kiss, moaning as she rubbed it slowly through his trousers.

"I always know what people _like_ dear." She purred into his ear, nipping at his earlobe as her fingers reached to undo his zipper. Sherlock's hand stopped her and she frowned at him questioningly.

"Ladies first." He growled lustily, placing wet open mouthed kisses along her neck as his own hand released hers to pull her dress up around her waist. Her hips rose as he pulled her knickers down and off, she gasped and tipped her head backwards as the tips of his fingers teased her clit, varying the pressure as his thumb stroked her folds _trying to work out what she liked._

"Sherlock." Irene moaned croakily, drawing out him name, savouring it.

Sherlock smirked to himself before moving his kisses down past her naval to the place of her arousal. He removed his fingers and Irene lifted her head to see where the contact had gone, instead she saw and felt Sherlock's tongue enter her. She replaced her head with a contented sigh, reaching down and threading her fingers through Sherlock's dark mane, pulling him closer as his tongue darted in and out with more speed. Sherlock's thumb re-joined the moment as he stroked her clit with it. Irene could feel herself coming close to the edge and squeezed her eyes shut tightly as she toppled over it.

"You do know how to please a woman Mister Holmes." Irene grinned as Sherlock leant back up her body to kiss her again. She could taste herself in his mouth but she didn't mind. "Your turn?" Irene asked the man above her; she looked at him while batting her eyelashes, she knew what his answer would be.

Sherlock murmured his agreement without parting their lips and Irene promptly rolled them off the tiny bed so that they fell onto the floor of their carriage –her on top of Sherlock.

"Good move." Sherlock complimented.

"Thank you." Irene bit his lip playfully before reaching her hand between their steamy bodies a second time and undoing Sherlock's zipper. He was already hard as she took him in hand and looked up at him, raising a regal eyebrow as if to say 'All because of me?'

Irene started moving her hand up and down Sherlock's length tantalisingly slowly, flicking over the head with her nails every now and then just to keep him alert. She carefully moved down his body until her head was level with his crotch. She looked up to make sure he was watching as she lowered her mouth around him. She would have smirked –had her mouth not been preoccupied- at the way his eyes rolled back into their sockets as she started moving her mouth, sucking and releasing, brushing the sides with her tongue.

He found it easy to find release and soon their mouths were joined at the same level again. Neither could see the point in losing all clothes so Irene merely undid Sherlock's belt and slid his trousers and briefs down his legs until they pooled around his ankles. She looked into his eyes as she lowered herself onto him, his hands guiding her waist.

She started moving up and down, slowly rising before slamming back down onto him. She liked being on top, she was a dominatrix so it sort of came naturally; she felt in control, as though she held all the power.

.

.

.

Later, they lay side by side panting on the floor of the carriage. Irene turned her head to look up at Sherlock, "I've never known someone to learn as quickly as you Mister Holmes." She teased, kissing him softly.

"Well, I had a good teacher." He replied, smiling, his breathing still rapid and irregular. Sherlock felt Irene curl into his chest and after five minutes heard her breathing regulate, indicating she had fallen asleep. He tried to move as little as possible as he removed his coat and draped it over their bodies. London was still a few hours away and he knew that he should try and get some sleep too, but he found it endlessly more entertaining to simply watch the sleeping woman lying in his arms. The woman. _His_ woman.

**Okay, okay, I'm a horrible person and I hate myself for a number of reasons currently. 1: I haven't updated in ages. 2: I kind of copped out of the sex scene, I'm sorry, I had to write quickly as I'm going out tonight and HAD to update. Kindly forgive me for being so awful at updating! I will try and update every week but it may elapse to every two weeks, I don't know. I'm not just being lazy about this, I genuinely am very busy, it's all dance exams, dance shows and GSCE's for me currently so please bear with **

**Also, check out the little smutty one-shot I wrote. It's called 'Oh Mister Holmes' :* And thank you all for your lovely reviews!**


	8. Chasing Cars

"Nice to know you remember me." The peeved voice of John Watson echoed around the metallic hospital room as he looked at the couple in front of him. Irene was sitting in the chair next to his bed, while Sherlock stood at its foot, hands clasped behind his back.

"I mean I know your parents have both died," He added hastily, not wanting to seem insensitive, "but you could have at least called once."

"We're sorry John." Irene replied for the two of them, knowing Sherlock wouldn't apologise, "It was Sherlock's mother's funeral yesterday, we left after the reception and arrived in the evening, we reasoned you wouldn't want to be disturbed at such a late hour so we didn't come and see you."

"It's fine." John bit the inside of his mouth, "Are you back on the Tower Bridge case?" he asked his friend.

"Yes. Of course. We've wasted enough time as it is." Sherlock replied off-handedly and John felt as though something had changed within his friend, but he couldn't quite work out what that thing was.

"You were at your mother's funeral Sherlock; I hardly think Scotland Yard can reprimand you for that." John frowned at his friend, "Despite what the two of you believe, it is okay to show some form of sentiment."

Irene and Sherlock exchanged a glance, _Oh if only he knew._

"We'd better get to the morgue, Harry will be expecting us." Irene said, standing and walking over to Sherlock. "We'll say goodbye before we leave." She reassured John before turning, squeezing Sherlock's hand and walking out of the room; she waited just outside the door, knowing the two of them would want to be alone for a minute.

"Something's changed." John said to his friend, who was staring after the sound of Irene's clicking heels.

"How do you mean?" Sherlock asked; turning back to his friend, his expression soft.

"You. You have changed. You seem different. Good different." John cocked his head to the side and squinted his eyes as though trying to figure out what had returned with Sherlock from his family home.

Sherlock smiled slightly, he knew his friend was trying to deconstruct him in his mind, he also knew however, that John wasn't as good at honing his deduction skills as Sherlock. So he was surprised when John's face cleared and he looked up at his friend in awe.

"You two didn't…?" He asked questioningly, scared to venture down the topic of sex with Sherlock.

"Didn't what?" Sherlock asked, his eyes widening fractionally at the realisation that his friend had worked it out.

"Had… you know." John looked at him, raising his eyebrows suggestively. He continued in a whisper, "_Sex_."

Sherlock laughed genuinely, "Yes we had sex. Don't be so British about it!" he replied loudly and John looked around as though a nurse might appear out of thin air and judge their conversational topic.

Irene heard the last sentence like crystal and covered her mouth with the back of her hand to stop a giggle from escaping.

"Well, wow. Get in there Sherlock." John breathed out, half laughing.

"Get in there?" Sherlock asked, his face contorted into confusion.

Irene saw this the appropriate moment to walk in, "It mean," she said, strutting over to Sherlock and placing a hand around his ear as she whispered the rest.

John guffawed heartily as his friend paled and gulped. Irene moved back and bit her lip.

"Might just happen later if you're lucky." She threw Sherlock a seductive sideways glance before releasing her lip slowly and walking out the door.

"I'd better…" Sherlock trailed off, turning to follow Irene.

"I don't blame you mate." John scoffed, looking after his friend after he left. His feelings for Irene had finally begun to subside, but it still hurt slightly to know what had occurred. He hadn't even thought Sherlock would ever have sex at all, let alone the woman he was infatuated with.

Irene waited for Sherlock outside the ominous morgue and glanced at him unsurely, her brow creased in an inner turmoil. He took her left hand in his right and squeezed it reassuringly, before using his left to push open the door and walked into the crowded room.

"Mister Holmes junior; I'm sorry to hear about your mother." Harry Pearce stepped forwards from the large party. Sherlock nodded in response, "And Miss Adler? My I nearly didn't recognise you!"

Irene smiled slightly, "Could we just see the body please?" she asked, looking around the faces staring at her as the various forensic officers (including Sally Donovan, who was sporting a rather lovely bruise on her left cheek) and D.I. Lestrade filed out, leaving only five people in the room: Sherlock, Irene, Harry, Molly and Mycroft.

"Where is he?" Sherlock asked.

"Just back here." The timid voice of Molly replied, leading the pair around the far table of the room and uncovering the head and shoulders of the corpse.

"Is that him?" Mycroft questioned Irene.

"That's him." She managed, before her voice hitched and tears started tippling out of her eyes. Sherlock wrapped his arms around her small frame, and drew her to him; her face buried itself in his shoulder and Molly turned away awkwardly.

Mycroft looked at Irene, shocked. The cold, heartless Dominatrix had broken down and was being comforted by the sociopathic asexual consulting detective.

Harry's lips thinned as he looked at the man before him. "We have no leads Sherlock; we really need your help."

"Are you alright?" Sherlock murmured, lifting Irene's chin so he could look into his eyes.

She nodded, sniffed and smiled at Sherlock as he proceeded to wipe away her tears; both of them knew the smile was only there for show.

"So," Irene straightened and turned to face the other three, "has anyone come forwards? Any organisations or individuals this all points to?" She asked, walking around the morgue and pulling back numerous sheets to reveal the head and shoulders of multiple other victims.

"No. No one to point the finger at yet." Harry replied, following Irene through the maze of corpses. "They were in fact all killed by the hanging, not beforehand as some officers speculated. Mixed nationalities, but mainly Russian, all victims have been identified and all have been living in Russia for some time now... Including your father." He added the last hit hesitantly.

"Do you have his file?" Irene asked, Harry nodded and pulled it from his briefcase before handing it to her.

Irene didn't look in it; instead, she calmly put it in her own bag and proceeded with her questioning.

"Any news of the missing security guards?" She was now standing by a young girl, the child was beautiful even in death and Irene winced at the harsh red line that was carved into her neck.

"None whatsoever. They just disappeared. Poof." Harry gestures this with his hands as Mycroft felt the need to input his contribution.

"The secret service have interviewed the families of most of the victims, apparently no suspicious behaviour beforehand, they had all been eating, drinking, going about their daily routine as they always would."

Throughout the dialogue Sherlock had been silently examining the bodies from head to toe, his movements disregarded by everyone in the room (except Molly of course).

"Irene, we need to go. Lovely to see you all." He grinned a fake grin and grabbed Irene's hand, pulling her out of the room with him.

"Where are we going?" She demanded.

"Home." Sherlock replied shortly, practically jogging through the hospital.

"Why?" Irene pestered.

"I need to look over that file and use a computer without being judged." They had whooshed past the front desk and onto the streets by now and Sherlock stuck out his hand or a cab.

"Oh Mister Holmes," Irene crooned in his ear as a taxi pulled up beside them, "you want to use a computer and not be judged? I thought I would have satisfied those needs by now." She raised an eyebrow challengingly and as a response, was pushed into the sleek black vehicle before her.

She was still grinning as she exited the same vehicle, one hellish cab rode later.

"Don't scowl dear, it's most unbecoming on you." She teased; running a red manicured nail down the consulting detective's cheek as he grudgingly unlocked the door. He was secretly pleased that she was smiling and laughing now, instead of crying.

He left her to shut the door as he headed upstairs, taking them two at a time. By the time Irene had reached the door of the flat, Sherlock was already sitting in his favourite chair, knees trapping his laptop in front of his chest.

"What are you looking up?" She asked, making herself tea in the kitchen.

""I'm not looking up. I'm hacking the database of MI5." Sherlock replied, his tone completely casual.

Irene nearly dropped her cup.

"You're serious aren't you?" She came up behind him sipping the hot beverage and perched on the arm of his chair.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he asked, giving her a fleeting quizzical look.

"Why are you hacking the database of the Secret Service?" She asked, changing the subject quickly.

"To see if there is any record of Harry Pearce's criminal activity."

"What criminal activity?!"

"Well he obviously worked for the same organisation as your father. I'm assuming they were on a mission together, they failed and your father got blamed but Harry didn't."

"You think my father was a criminal?" Irene scoffed and turned to gaze out of the window.

"Yes." Sherlock said simply, his fingers working furiously against the keyboard as they spoke.

"And _Harry Pearce_? You're mad!" Irene stood and walked over to the window, looking down at the street below.

"Mad or correct?" Sherlock stated. "Look I know you're not going to want to accept this, but-"

"It makes sense I suppose." Irene murmured and Sherlock removed his gaze from the computer screen to look at her for a minute. She was so unpredictable he didn't know how to handle her sometimes. "I mean, Daddy was always very secretive about his work, he was obsessed with it too, he just didn't spear to be as he was always home. In the evenings he would leave though, go out and not return until the early hours of the morning."

Irene looked as though all of this was only just dawning on her.

"I can't believe I missed all the signs." She finished.

"We only see what we want to see when it concerns those we care about Irene." Sherlock said gently, standing and placing his laptop on the desk before walking behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. She leant back into his body, enjoying the safety she felt when in his arms.

"Then do I only see what I want to about you?" She asked him quietly, leaning her head back against his shoulder.

Sherlock smiled.

**I'm evil. I feel horrible my updates are so far apart! This chapter is also ridiculously short but I decided this way I can update sooner again. The last month for me has been back to back exams, dance show rehearsals and musical auditions so I'm really sorry! Just a tiny bit of fluff at the end… I hate that I actually have to have a plot in this but I fear it would make for rather boring reading if I did not.**


	9. Beneath Your Beautiful

The next morning Irene woke up alone in bed.

"Sherlock?" She called out, but upon receiving no reply decided to wrap a sheet around her and investigate.

"Sherlock it's six am in the bloody morning! Come back to b-" Her words died in her throat as she walked into the living room and found Sherlock sitting in his favourite chair, an elder woman sat across from him.

"Irene, this is my aunt Delilah." He drawled, apparently unfazed by her state of undress. "Auntie D this is Irene my… this is Irene."

The woman in question turned to look at Irene as Sherlock introduced them awkwardly.

She had Sherlock's blue eyes and high cheekbones but her hair was blonde instead.

"Miss Adler, charmed, I'm sure." The woman stood and extended her hand towards Irene. Irene shook her hand, not questioning how she had known her surname.

"You weren't at the funeral." She said plainly, smoothing her hair slightly with one hand as the other clutched the very see-through sheet around her body.

"I don't like them." Delilah replied as she sat back down. "Too many people being overly sentimental just because another life has ended."

"And with that remark I am assured you two will get along just fine." Sherlock said, standing and taking his coat from the back of his chair.

"Where are you going?" Irene asked, frowning.

"I have some leads to follow up. About what we talked about last night before…" He blushed deeply in the presence of his aunt and Irene smiled at him fondly.

"I understand. I'll see you out." She said, following down the stairs and stopping just before the front door. "You're just going to leave me alone with your aunt whom I've never met before?" She asked, blocking his way to the door.

"I'm sure you two will get along just fine. You're very similar." He replied.

"Oh, she's an ex-dominatrix too?" Irene joked.

"Yes."

Irene looked at him, trying to work out if this was one of his bizarre jokes or not.

"And since when were you an _'ex_-dominatrix'?" Sherlock asked her, taking a step closer as his brows dipped in the centre.

"Since we… you know." She said offhandedly. She gulped and looked up at him, his face was very close to hers and she reached up on her tip toes to brush their lips together.

"I suppose." Sherlock breathed against her lips.

"Does this make us official then?" Irene challenged; a gleam in her eyes.

"Official what then?" Sherlock asked, moving his head back a fraction to study her reaction.

"You know…" Irene's lip curled up. "A couple."

"Oh, um, that. Yes." Sherlock said stiffly.

"Oh soften up dear." Irene cooed, kissing him again but with more force.

"I find it hard when my aunt is upstairs and awaiting your presence." Sherlock said into her lips as he backed her against the door, using his right hand to turn the nob he turned them around and broke away, walking out of the now open door behind him.

"Have fun dear." Irene giggled, biting her lip. She popped her head around the door as he hailed a taxi. "I love you!" She called out as one pulled up at the curb.

"I love you too." Sherlock called back, smiling at her as he drove off.

"You've brought about quite the change in my nephew. He needed it." Delilah said to Irene as the latter re-entered the living room of 221b and sat in Sherlock's chair.

"I'll take that as a compliment?" Irene raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"You should. No one else has done it before." Delilah smiled. "I heard him tell you of my former profession."

"Indeed." Irene replied, levelling the woman's gaze, "I'm sure that you also heard we share said profession."

"Oh I knew that before I found out my son had taken up with you." Irene looked at her questioningly. "You're _The Woman_. You're still in high regard in the industry."

"Good to know." Irene smirked, "Have you an alias I might be familiar with?"

"I doubt it." Delilah replied, scratching at her nails, "It changes so often."

Irene nodded in understanding, "Sherlock never told me his aunt was a dominatrix."

"I think he's ashamed of me." Delilah said somewhat sadly.

"Why should he be? He's not ashamed of me? If he were I'd whip him into shape." She added, winking.

Delilah laughed, "I wouldn't be so sure." Her smile was bitter and fake and all of Irene's warmness to the woman promptly vanished. "I'd better leave anyway."

"Sherlock was expecting you to stay." Irene frowned.

"No he wasn't. Not really. Give him my best." And with that, Delilah stood up and let herself out.

Irene didn't know what to make of the woman; first she seemed nice, then familiar, then cold.

She shook it off as another odd Holmsian, but found she spent all morning thinking about what she'd said. About Sherlock being ashamed of her. Was he ashamed of her? He never told people about her former profession, but that was for her safety, she was sure.

She spent most of that day contemplating the subject matter and by the time had figured out what she was going to say to Sherlock. She wasn't going to be indirect in the slightest. She would ask him straight out whether or not he was ashamed of her for who she was. But of course, conversations with his man never went according to plan.

Sherlock swept into the flat at about two o'clock, rushing over to his laptop and starting to type furiously.

"Sherlock." Irene was sitting in his chair having changed into some more appropriate clothes.

He didn't answer.

"Sherlock, are you ashamed of me?" She asked bluntly.

"What did she say to you? I knew she would. It was a test. She's an admirable woman really and I'm sure the two of you got along for a while. Until, I'm presuming she told you I was ashamed of you; not so directly of course. You know how difficult my family like to be." He replied, not looking up from his laptop once.

Irene nodded thoughtfully before realising something. She opened her mouth to speak, but before a word could leave her lips, Sherlock continued.

"And no, I am not ashamed of you." He looked over at her and noticed the thoughtful expression she wore and how she was biting her bottom lip. "I could never be ashamed of you." He finished softly and she looked up at him, a small smile gracing her features.

"What was the lead you got?" She asked, standing and walking to stand behind him, leaning over his shoulder to look at the laptop.

"Thhhhhhhis." He replied, grimacing and opening a page.

The page was from the CIA's deleted archives. Irene knew very few people in the world had access to it.

"How did you…? Never mind." She reached over and scrolled down the mouse pad until a familiar face appeared on a file. "You were right." She stated simply, staring at the face of a very young Harry Pearce.

"Keep scrolling." He said, regret laced in his voice and she frowned but complied.

Her eyes widened as she saw a picture of her father.

"If you read the text surrounding the picture you'll see that Harry targeted him and forced him into the organisation."

Irene was very quiet.

"I believe Harry was in fact involved in this whole situation. I can't say anything to my brother or any of the secret service until I have more proof. I need to go to the hospital. I will obviously need John's help with all of this and yours too if you will oblige me." He looked over his shoulder to see that Irene was no longer there. He saw his bedroom door shut softly and stood, sighing.

"Are you alright?" He asked, sitting on the edge of his bed next to her.

She nodded, not trusting her own voice.

"Do you want to come with me to the hospital?" He asked, taking her hand in his own.

She shook her head.

"Do you want me to stay with you?"

She shook her head again. "I'm fine." She said quietly. "I just need some time to think everything over."

It was Sherlock's turn to nod.

"I won't be too long." He said, standing and taking his coat from the back of his bedroom door.

He held out his hand to Irene and she took it, looking at his quizzically as he pulled her up so she stood in front of him. He brushed his hand gently over her cheek and kissed her softly, comfortingly.

"I'll see you later." He called as he exited the flat.

Irene sat back down on the bed and bit her lip, trying process everything with a small frown on her face.

John was awake and reading when Sherlock entered his hospital room.

"When are you going to be discharged?" Sherlock asked him.

To anyone else his actions may have been conceived as disinterested or uncaring, but John noticed how his eyes flicked over the monitors surrounding the bed to make sure he was alright.

"I don't know, they keep changing their minds about it." He replied, "Need help with the case?"

"I do." Sherlock looked at him sincerely.

"Well, I won't be out of here for at least another few days apparently so why don't you start by telling me everything you know about it and I'll see if I can help." He suggested.

Sherlock scoffed.

"I'm not as stupid as you think I am you know." John snapped indignantly.

"As you wish. Thirty bodies hanging off Tower Bridge, thirty security guards missing. Irene's father was among the bodies and was involved in a criminal organisation for many years. He was entered into whichever organisation this is by Harry Pearce –very significant member in MI5 and confidant of my dear brother. He has a previously unknown criminal record mainly involving sharpshooting –he was an assassin."

**Okay, this is the first half of the chapter! Sorry this has been so long! Apart from exams and performances I have no excuse! Please forgive me! I will try and write more the coming week as I'm now on holiday but I won't have my laptop with me to post a new chapter this week so please bear with me time-wise. Please review if you are feeling kind!**


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